Finding Ourselves
by pseudonymous.writer.blogger
Summary: Tris Prior is alive. But she has been taken captive for three years until they find her. Who is the Rebel Trio and what do they want with Tris?
1. Prologue

**A note: everything (except, you'll see, Uriah's death) that happened in my last fanfic happened in this fanfic. But you don't need to read it to understand this. Enjoy!**

I can feel metal ravaging my wrist, attached to the side of the bed I am lying on. I hear the steady metronome of a heart, and deduce that I am in the hospital.

Memory rushes in, a tidal wave of pain along with it. David, Caleb, the Weapons Lab, my mother. I thought I was dead. Am I alive?

It occurs to me, somehow, that I can be in heaven. But I doubt God would welcome his children in a hospital, handcuffed to the edge of the bed.

The bed sheets are clean and crisp, ruffling at the movement of my shifting. I open my eyes, slowly peeling them open, and try to sit up. To my surprise, I do without difficulty.

"Hello?" I say. If I am alive, then Tobias will come see me. It is obvious they succeeded, as the compound is quiet and still, no bustling workers and scientists fretting about the explosion a few days ago.

The walls are white and plain, the bed in the center of the room, and as I expected, a heart monitor to my left counts my heartbeat, a shackled chain forcing me to conform to the bed. A door opens from the corner of the room at the sound of my voice.

A man steps through the door, gray eyes unfeeling. His hair is a military cut, his posture straight and strict. His suit and tie are Candor black and white. "Hello, Ms. Prior," he says, and his voice is as gravelly as nails. "You were in a comatose state for a week after you were shot. We developed a serum that awakens those in a comatose state. You should thank us."

"I understand," I push out, and it shocks me that my voice is not hoarse or weak. I feel as if I have never been shot before. "When can I leave?" I say cautiously, wondering about the metal handcuff that restrains me.

"You see, your friend Uriah was also given the serum," he says, indifferent to my voice.

"Yes, but why am I—"

"My name is David. The _real_ David—the David in the compound who shot you was a decoy implanted for safety measures, in case you delinquents rebelled against the Bureau, and, as anticipated, you did." He smiles an icy grin as I stare at him in shock.

I tug at the metal bracelet frantically, glaring at him all the way. But it does not budge. I groan in frustration.

"What do you want?" I snap at him.

"What I want, you ask," he says, standing up. Swiftly, his hands reach my throat, and I struggle helplessly beneath the bed sheets, ruffling their crisp conformation with my legs. I cannot scream as he squeezes the life out of me.

"I can kill you now, you pathetic experiment," he spits, and my left hand smacks against his arm freely, but has no effect against the muscular weight of it. Black spots blur my vision, slowly losing consciousness in the haze of suffocation. "But I have questions to ask you, and you will cooperate. We also have serums to test."

He lets go of my neck, leaving me coughing and sagging against the bed as he stands over me. "Your friends in the Fourth City still think you're dead. We replaced your supposed body with another one. How pitiful."

"They'll find me," I hiss at him, anger pulsing through my veins. "They'll find you and kill you."

He chuckles and snaps his fingers. Multiple guards bombard the room and approach me, unlocking the handcuffs and pulling me out of the bed. I realize I am only wearing a green hospital gown, coming only towards me thighs. I shiver.

My feet touch the ground, but only briefly. I am flipped onto my back, knocking air out of my lungs, and dragged out of the room. I struggle and protest, swinging my arms about and legs kicking to the nearest guard. It hits him softly in the leg, and he reaches down and pushes his fist with incredible speed into my abdomen. I cough, pain racing through the bullet wound, and scream.

A door opens, and I am flung across wildly, back hitting against the wall, and I slide to the ground.

"Hey!" I scream. "They'll find you, I swear it!"

Two guards follow me in. In such rapid movement, my wrists are chained to the wall in shackles, ankles left alone. The other guard, I don't see, but I feel his knuckles slam against my jaw, pain flashing in an instant, and darkness envelopes me in its eerie silence.


	2. Chapter 1

Three years.

Three years ago, I supposedly died. Three years ago, I was captured by David, the leader of the Bureau, but I stopped all experiments. The City, I've heard from eavesdropping on the careless, idiotic guards, is rebuilding, and politician Johanna Reyes is who everyone looks up to.

I've also heard about her assistant. Tobias.

His name stings me. If I am dead, has he moved on? What will I do then?

Stupid, I chastise myself. I have waited for three years, and no one has found me.

For three years, David and his associates have tortured me in every method found. My legs are scarred with knife and belt wounds. My back is ravaged with lines, welts a rich, bloody bulb from various whips. My arms are cut, the bottoms of my feet scratched by glass and burning coals. I am made of purple and black bruises more than my usual skin tone. Pain screams at me with every movement I make.

My wrists and ankles are marked with restraints of rope, chains, and metal. Still, I am alive. I have wanted it to end before. I have wanted to force a guard to shoot me, but if they did, they would find someone else—Tobias, Christina, Zeke, Uriah, Shauna. Then it would be over.

Three days, torture. The next two days, serums. I still wear the disgusting hospital gown, wet with blood and water, edges burnt from electrocution. My neck is constantly injected with fear serums, simulation serums, and other formulas they've decided to fill me with. I've been punished multiple times for misbehaving, struggling, attempting to escape, or for the fun of guards. Those nights are the worst.

But I still attempt to escape the stifling, dark edges of my cell, the shackles on my wrist digging into my skin. For three years, there is still hope.

Every night after the pain, the guard slips a pan of water and two slices of bread in a plate of metal into the cell through the lower section of the door. That is what I will use.

The cell door, wooden and creaky compared to the stone walls of the cell itself, slams open, and my usual guard steps through. He spits at my face as he steps through with his keys. I look at him with pleading eyes, wide and, I presume and hope, irritating.

He spits in my left eye, and I cringe at the water and looking away.

"It's a third day, dog," he hisses. "Time to get up for some fun." He laughs hysterically as he unlocks my wrists.

Now.

I grab the pan and swing the metal slab against his cheek, and he reels away in shock. I can't think. I can't.

I run out the door, ignoring his yells of alarm. Pain slices through my head each time my feet touch the ground, but I don't care. The door, white and tempting of freedom, at the end of the stone slab hallway is so close. I run and run, and I can reach the door, closer than ever to escape, and I—

I scream as several soldiers tackle my body, dropping to the floor, crushing me with their weight. "No! No, I was so close!" I yell frantically against the black cloth they wear, and struggle against them.

The consequences are worse. Fists collide with my jaw, my aching stomach, digging into my shoulders. A knife is pushed into my left leg, and I cry out in pain as black dots cloud my vision. Someone grabs my hair and smashes my head against the ground. I scream. Every part of my body throbs and aches, and I close my eyes in exhaustion.

"Oh, no, no, no," a familiar voice chastises. David. "You don't get to sleep, Beatrice."

A moment passes; then a needle in my neck jerks me awake, but not fully. My eyes open, and David's head fills my view. "No, this deserves punishment," he says.

I shake my head. The last time it happened, I couldn't sleep for a week. No. I can't.

"Oh, yes, you will," he says, and he smiles. "You never learn your lesson, do you?"

I whimper. I am losing myself. Tris Prior would never whimper. But I do, whoever I am.

The hallway fills with laughter. Arms grab me, ripping me apart, and drag me to the usual room. There, the screams start.


	3. Chapter 2

I lay and cry in my cell, wrists chained again to the wall, legs ravaged and arms racked with scars. Bruises mark my face, leaving only my eyes and forehead alone. They used the pan. Blood leaks everywhere, mostly from the knife wound on my leg. But, that is not my punishment.

My punishment is no food tonight, and before they left, the guard I attacked with the pan took the slab of metal and swung it across my face several more times. Then, he smacked the flat of my ear with the heel of his hand, forced a wet, heavy cloth into my mouth to stop me from screaming, and slipped a black bag around my head. My head aches from him banging it on the cell wall. I can feel blood sliding down my neck.

The darkness of the night drives me insane. I cannot see the moonlight slipping through the top bars of my window, or the slip of light underneath the door.

There is a limited amount of air inside the bag. I try to slow my breathing, but I feel as if it is suffocating me, especially with the gag in my mouth.

My throat is hoarse from screaming, yet I cry silently. My body throbs and aches everywhere, pain racking through my body; and my stomach grows with intensity. I am utterly exhausted of it all. I want it to end, but Tobias…

Screams and groan resound throughout the compound, gunshots clear and cutting into the silence of the dark night. No. It's another one. It has to be.

The loss of air in the bag has caused me to hallucinate. Yes—I feel the air murky and dark besieging me, enveloping me in its silent embrace. My chest heaves in attempt to breathe, but the thick cloth is unwilling to open and give air to my dying lungs.

Footsteps approach, the echoing sound of a gunshot and more screams along with it. Can it be? They've found us? They've found _me_?

I can barely breathe beneath the black hood and the excitement that someone has come. But it's another simulation—it's happened before, it is. But what if it's not?

The door creaks, and I whimper and cower away by instinct. Pain still racks my body, and I have no idea who it is. I try to sink against the wall.

But footsteps come closer, and the chains of my wrists unlock. My arms drop to the floor, weighed down by fear. I am shaking with terror.

The black bag around my head comes off, and I cough and swallow the first clear breath of air I've had since the man forced the cloth over me. I can barely see, light radiating into my eyes, and I try to adjust. I almost gasp in surprise when I see who it is, and see that his mouth is wide open in shock and fear as well.

His warm, brown eyes and dark skin are familiar, but his smile is gone, replaced with a wide circle of terror. Uriah.


	4. Chapter 3

Tobias:

My eyes open, and I know what day it is. She's been dead for three years.

I rub my eyes. All that's left is a twinge of pain as I hear her name. But that, of all things, hurts more than what's happened. I've come to accept Tris's sacrifice, but it does not mean I forget her. That brings me more fear than anything else.

I sit up in bed and stare at my suit hung next to my bed. Johanna would want me to take the day off on days like today, when she knows it means something to me. I always refuse.

I sigh. I still love her, and her life burns an imprint in mine. If she walked into my life again, it would never be the same, but I would still love her. I can learn to love her more and again.

I put the suit on and walk out the door.

I arrive at the office to Johanna sighing as she sees me. "You know I told you yesterday to take the day off, right?"

"Of course I know," I respond, mouth twitching.

"And of course you denied it," Johanna says.

I sit down at my desk across from hers to the left side of the door in our spacious office, and turn my attention to her. Regular days go like this. We sit and talk for some time, while Johanna tasks me with an errand or discusses political statements with me, until it is time to go. It is a good life.

"So how is your mother? Has she moved out yet?"

"No," I say. "She's looking for a job."

Johanna is about to say something when we hear running footsteps and panting approaching the door. Zeke and Uriah rush in, dressed in military gear and black clothing, as Dauntless as can be. Both of them work for the police, so it is predictable that they wear uniforms, but not on a regular outing. Blood stains cover Uriah's legs, but it is not his. Something must be wrong.

"Johanna, Tobias," Uriah pants out. "You have to come to the hospital."

"What's wrong?" Johanna inquires.

I am sick to my stomach. Is it my mother? Christina?

Zeke looks at me sternly in the eye. "It's Tris."

My heart stops, and everything around me stops, and the world stops to hear what has happened, because she is that important.

"She's alive."


	5. Chapter 4

Tobias:

My eyes open, and I know what day it is. She's been dead for three years.

I rub my eyes. All that's left is a twinge of pain as I hear her name. But that, of all things, hurts more than what's happened. I've come to accept Tris's sacrifice, but it does not mean I forget her. That brings me more fear than anything else.

I sit up in bed and stare at my suit hung next to my bed. Johanna would want me to take the day off on days like today, when she knows it means something to me. I always refuse.

I sigh. I still love her, and her life burns an imprint in mine. If she walked into my life again, it would never be the same, but I would still love her. I can learn to love her more and again.

I put the suit on and walk out the door.

I arrive at the office to Johanna sighing as she sees me. "You know I told you yesterday to take the day off, right?"

"Of course I know," I respond, mouth twitching.

"And of course you denied it," Johanna says.

I sit down at my desk across from hers to the left side of the door in our spacious office, and turn my attention to her. Regular days go like this. We sit and talk for some time, while Johanna tasks me with an errand or discusses political statements with me, until it is time to go. It is a good life.

"So how is your mother? Has she moved out yet?"

"No," I say. "She's looking for a job."

Johanna is about to say something when we hear running footsteps and panting approaching the door. Zeke and Uriah rush in, dressed in military gear and black clothing, as Dauntless as can be. Both of them work for the police, so it is predictable that they wear uniforms, but not on a regular outing. Blood stains cover Uriah's legs, but it is not his. Something must be wrong.

"Johanna, Tobias," Uriah pants out. "You have to come to the hospital."

"What's wrong?" Johanna inquires.

I am sick to my stomach. Is it my mother? Christina?

Zeke looks at me sternly in the eye. "It's Tris."

My heart stops, and everything around me stops, and the world stops to hear what has happened, because she is that important.

"She's alive."


	6. Chapter 5

Tobias:

And then I am running, running along the cold winter air, towards the hospital, where I know she'll be. There's no way Zeke would have taken her anywhere else, especially since she's been dead for three years.

I don't know what I'm running for. I don't know what has happened. All I know is that she is alive. And that is enough for me.

The hospital lies on the banks of the lake, the border between the city and the new apartments lining against the river. The snow is blankets of wool, soft and pliable. The cold morning air stops me from sweating from the exercise. I have not run this fast since the day the trains stopped running. Everyone agreed to shut it down, preventing accidents. But the former Dauntless members also agreed to have a last run with the trains, a sign of remembrance, a promise that we will never forget them.

I burst into the quiet hospital, swinging the doors widely as I push them open. I run to the clerk and wheeze out, "Prior. Where is she?"

Her brown eyes are puzzled, looking down at her list of patients. "Prior. Right this way," she says, and leads me down the hallway, gesturing me to follow.

We reach the door as I regain my breath. Stupid. I should have waited for Zeke. What happens if I'm unprepared for her condition? If something happened to her…

"We fixed her up best we could," says the nurse. Fixed her up? "But some scars can never heal."

She has a look of utter sorrow drawn across her face, carved into the wrinkles of her cheekbones. But then she turns to leave, and I am left standing outside the door. I shake my head, trying to clear the confusion out. My hand closes around the brass handle, cool to the touch of metal, and press my head against the doorway, closing my eyes.

I take a deep breath, and step into the room.

She lays there, blue eyes closed, eyelids purple, bed sheets covering her. At first, I think she looks peaceful, that she had once again drifted off into the unknown afterwards, an angel lifted into heaven. But the heart monitor beats, and I can see her eyebrows furrowing with puzzlement though she is asleep. Her face is more bruised than her face. Her arms, peeking out of the bed sheets, are more scars and cuts than her arms.

And her cheekbones have shrunken; she is as thin as paper, as frail as dirt, and she feels unreal. She can't truly be here, can she?

I haven't breathed since the moment I stepped into the room. I walk, submersed in water, toward the chair next to the bed, and sit down, plopping onto the leather cushions that comfort my legs but not my mind.

I don't know how long I've sat there, eyes open, staring her battered body, before Zeke and Uriah walk in.

"Hey, man," Zeke whispers, while Uriah gapes at Tris as well. I am glad to know I am not the only one surprised. "We brought Christina here. Should have waited for us, bro. Could have warned you." He gestures at her body. I shiver, and my hands shake and precipitate.

"Wh—what happened?" I ask, unsteady.

"We raided a rebel camp," explains Uriah, talking for the first time, not looking at me.

Rebels are groups of GPs who desire for the Bureau to return to its original state, for the City to be restored to its experimental stage, and for GDs to be either separated from the GPs or eliminated. The police force does their best to eradicate these rebels.

"When we got there, only several guards were there. The leader of the base camp was gone, missing, and all other usual officials who operate there.

"We searched every room and cell except the far two at the end of the hallway. In the first one was…"

Uriah pauses, looking at Zeke. His hesitation almost drives me on edge. "What?" I say harshly. He cannot look me in the eye.

"Weapons. Torture tools. Belts, whips, knives, scalpels, electrocution chairs, you name it. They had it in there," Zeke replies gravely.

My stomach flips and turns and mixes, acid and bile rising. I observe sleeping Tris, and imagine what I have not imagined since the nights held in Erudite holding cells. I shiver, forcing the vomit down into my throat, bent over at the waist, hands over my mouth.

"In the other was Tris. Her legs were a lot worse…we found her pretty badly in shape…but they said she'll be okay."

"Yeah, physically, maybe, if she can even walk again," I growl. "Mentally? Who knows what they did to her. God, what else did she have to go through?"

I look at her, hair the length when she was an initiate, and lift my hand up without thinking of it. I touch her hair, and smooth it back to see her face. Even beneath the purple bruises, the cuts and scrapes of dried blood, she is still beautiful. Her eyes dictate mine to watch her, drawing me toward her with each glance.

How long has it been? How long has it been since I've touched her, I've heard her voice, heard her say, "I love you," without it being in my unconscious realm of dreams? How long has it been since I've pressed my lips to hers, tasted her strength through her sweat? How long?

The answer is not three years. The answer has nothing to do with time. The answer will always be too long.

Too long ago I was eighteen, too long ago she was sixteen, too long ago we were young and in love and invincible. Too long.

I have no idea when I decided to do it. Perhaps I decided to do it when I walked through the door. But I lean down, and kiss her, gently, not to wake her, but to be able to feel again.

There is a rustling beside me. I open my eyes in a flash, and see hers wide open. Icy blue flame, defiant and brave, and I want to slap myself to see if it is a dream, to see if she is truly alive, that she is alive and back with me. I sit up and grab her hand, water spilling onto my cheeks.

"Tris?" I say.

She looks at me, her eyes striking me with their paleness, and I see a paradise in them, a life I've hoped for but never gotten, taken away from me with her death. "Tobias?" she says. I breathe in, a shaky, long breath, terrified that if I exhale again she will disappear, like in the dreams I used to have of her.

"Is it real? Are you real?" I ask.

"Is this a simulation? Is it?" she asks. I reel back in surprise, but I know I shouldn't be. Among the ways of torture, her captors surely would use simulations.

"I'm real. You're in the hospital. We thought…" I trail off, my throat stuck. "We thought you were dead. For—"

"Three years," she says, her voice shaking. "I know…They…"

Then she starts to cry. Beautiful tears that make my hands wet when I put her face in my hands, pull it toward my chest.

"I know," I say. "I know."

I pull away, taking a moment to look at her in my hands once again, and press my forehead to hers, cool and smooth. "But you're here now. With me. And I will never leave you. I will never let them touch you again; I will never let them look at you again."

I place her head in my chest again, pressing my nose to the top of her skull. And I begin to cry also, running my fingers through her hair, rapidly becoming wet from my tears. We stay there, with my chair scooted as far as it can to be close to the bed, with her head in my chest, and my tears running through her hair. To have her in my arms, warm and alive, is necessary to me—as much as I need air, I need her.


	7. Chapter 6

Tris:

The door opens, and I jerk awake, squirreling out of someone's arms. Tobias's, I remember, and I look back at his open arms, eyes wide open, surprised.

I breathe heavily. In, out, in, out. Every time a door opens, I will think of them. I am sure of it.

His safe, warm arms encircle me, bringing me back to reality. "I promised you, last night, remember?" he says.

I nod. The nurse checks the morphine container, my heartbeat. Then she looks from Tobias to me.

"I'm going to have to check your legs, Ms. Prior."

I visibly shudder. Tobias lays a hand on my shoulder, comforting me. I slowly nod reluctantly, and open the sheets, revealing a plain white dress and my legs.

The scars of the torture cuts are not the worst of it; the stab wound is. By the look of the nurse, it's infected. She does not have to tell me that—the yellow pus threatening to ooze out of the wound and Tobias's familiar, distressed face proves to me that my deductions are correct.

"This will take a lot of time," says the nurse.

"That's alright," Tobias answers, and his mouth twitches. "Time is all we have."

"David is alive," I tell Zeke, Uriah, Tobias, and Christina. After the nurse left, everyone came clamoring in, and I suffered under a great deal of large hugs and tears from Christina. Now I tell them the story of my captivity.

"What did he want? What questions did he interrogate you with?"

"Information of Jeanine's endeavors in my brain," I reply. I remember, and shudder. For years, he asked the same question. "'Tell me what she found. Tell me what she and her Erudite others observed.'"

"Don't they already know since they've been watching?" asks Christina. She brings a valid point.

"Except I already asked that question to them when they started asking," I say.

And I remember what they did that night.

My hand covers my mouth, and I almost throw up, gagging at the thought. Warm hands wrap around me, but I can't hear anything. Someone lifts me up in the air and carries me toward the bathroom, setting me down, hand on my back.

I wretch out vomit onto the toilet, slobbering it all on the bathroom floor, getting some on Tobias's legs. Of course he carried me.

My mind reminisces the night in Amity Headquarters, when I was under peace serum, when everything seemed simple. The thought calms my mind, the warmth of his hands and arms, his chest where I bury my head, him caressing me like a child, and I start to fall asleep. The last things I see are his eyes.


	8. Chapter 7

Tris:

I wake to deep blue eyes and furrowed eyebrows, marking a crease between his forehead. I trace it with my fingers, the lines and his eyebrows, and his cheekbones.

"Tobias," I whisper.

"Tris," he says.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"You passed out yesterday, and the swelling in your leg's gone down. They say you'll be able to walk."

I look down at his legs close to the hospital bed. "Did I get some on your leg?"

"My legs are none of your concern," he grunts. He sits back down on his chair. The window beside me reveals snow covered grounds, beautiful and coating the yellow grass immensely, like the bed sheets covering my wounds. It is easy for something white and pure to mask scars, but it is harder to release the stains from something white and pure.

"Zeke, Uriah, and Christina have gone back to the compound to investigate. They're searching for David as we speak.

"You're probably wondering why I'm not with them, part of their police force," Tobias says, clearing his throat.

"No, I know," I say. "The guards gossiped about Chicago—I had full knowledge what improvements you and Johanna have made to the city. I know you're Johanna's assistant."

I look back at Tobias, at his hard-set jaw, at his stick out ears, and want him. More than I ever had before, because of his bravery, the hardship he's had to go through, and now this.

"You're okay with me being a politician?" he asks.

"No, you're not a politician," I say. "You are someone who brings peace and leads people to reform and maintain peace. And you aren't afraid to take measures to obtain peace.

"I am proud of you. You are brave and worthy. You'll be a great peace-maker."

He takes a step closer, almost resting on the bed. "You're proud of me?" he asks, his eyes clouding with uncertainty and tears.

"I have never been more proud of anybody else," I say to him, my vision blurring from tears. "And I love you."

How long has it been since I've said that to him? Three years. Too long.

The words leave my mouth, and he kisses me, his lips warm and light against my chapped, bloody lips; sweet and salty from his sweat. When it is done, I do not stop. I have lived for three years without it. How did I survive?

He lands on the bed, and I scoot to the side to let him in, still holding his head in the kiss. We breathe, and he moves the bed sheets aside to fit into the bed. Tobias smiles, broad and white, and for the first time in three years, I find myself grinning at someone I love. This time, it is me who initiates the kiss.

He starts to kiss my collarbone, the birds taking flight that I have forgotten; tracing the tattoos of my shoulders. I run my hands down his back, his tattoos ranging from the most important to the least of the factions. We both shiver from our touch that we have craved for so long, but we ignore it.

"I love you," he says, and I say it back.

That night, we lay in the hospital bed, uninterrupted, kissing at times, Tobias telling stories of everything that's happened in three years, and sometimes just closing our eyes, forehead to forehead, and rest. Sometimes, I think I can survive anything beside him.

His warm, lithe arms wrap around me, holding me tight, as if I could become the wind and fall away from him at any moment. He pushes my head against his chest, and for the first time in years, I feel safe. Maybe I am safe.

But they will come back for me. I know it.

I whimper and shudder at the thought. Tobias squeezes me tighter. "I will never let them touch you again. Never."

"When Zeke and Uriah found me," I tell him, "I thought it was another simulation. Something born of their imaginations to give me false hope. They made one with you before…"

I cough into his chest, shaking from the reminiscence. I do not want to remember it.

For a moment, he does not say anything. Then: "I am real. I am here. When the sky crumbles and the wars collide, I am real and with you. When the darkness envelopes the earth and the sun tumbles down upon us, I am real and with you. And if the flowers die, and all else disintegrates into the wind, I will be with you."

My tears wet his shirt, and I can feel his running down my hair. He presses his nose to the top of my skull and kisses the peak of my forehead; and I sob out, "I love you, Tobias. I love you."

It comes as a whisper. "I love you, too, Tris."


	9. Chapter 8

**Three Months Later:**

He carries me toward the couch and plops me down, landing on me a second later, grinning like a maniac. "Tobias!" I say playfully. "We've been home for a minute and you're already like this."

He laughs and kisses my cheek slowly. I grab his face and bring it down to mine, closing my eyes, savoring the kiss.

Tobias smiles through the kiss—it means he has a plan. He grabs me at the waist and hoists me up in the air, arms underneath my leg to support my weight, carrying me like that to the bedroom, laughing the whole way. We land on the bed and kiss.

A few months ago, I was confused and hurt and barely escaped captivity. Now, I am fully healed and happy. Today, I came home to Tobias's apartment along the river. Spring roots and plants root up against it and have grown from the yellow, dead grass it once was three years ago, thanks to Amity volunteers. I have also reunited with Caleb. I have forgiven him, and helped him forgive himself. Tobias told me of his exploits with drugs and the incident that occurred near the chasm three years ago.

Zeke, Uriah, and the police force did not get the chance to catch David. We are convinced he is long gone, only waiting for the right moment to strike—we are on our guard.

But right now, I let my guard fall apart for Tobias. Then, I push him away to look at him. "Come on, we didn't eat yet," I say.

"We ate breakfast," Tobias mumbles against my cheek.

"Lunch, pansycake." We both laugh, and walk toward the kitchen.

"Want to meet my neighbors?" Tobias asks me.

"Sure," I say. He takes me outside of the clean apartment and down the hallway, towards a room at the end of it. Tobias's apartment is on the first floor of a high-rise building, at least fifteen stories high. It's no wonder why he picked the first floor.

"His name is Sebastian," Tobias informs. "He's a historian."

He knocks on the door, and after a few moments of shuffling feet, the door unlatches and swings ajar. A man dressed in black and white formality stands in the doorway, an unpleasant smile on his face; tie loose around his neck and gray sideburns contrasting against his black hair. "Hello, Mr. Eaton," says the man, and I shiver at his voice.

There is a ring of familiarity to it, but I cannot place where I know it—but I know, just _know_ I have heard it before. "And who is this?" asks Sebastian.

"I'm Tris," I say gritting my teeth to keep my voice steady and even. "Tris Prior."

Tobias scratches his ear. "She just came home today from the hospital. I wanted to introduce you two."

"Well, hello, Ms. Prior," Sebastian says, and I realize his chin is red with blood, and his right cheek is slighter puffier than his left. "Welcome to the Fourth City."

I step back. The Fourth City. His words echo in my mind, bubbling memories that I have no desire to remember. The Fourth City.

One of the guards always said that. The Fourth City.

It can't be—it's only a coincidence. No. If Tobias is friends with him, then he is a good person. He must be.

Tobias looks at me strangely, eyebrows furrowed, crease between his eyes. I can barely hear him say, "Anyway, Tris is pretty tired considering she just came out of the hospital today. We'll be in our apartment. Thanks for everything, Sebastian."

He grabs my arm, with my mouth open and still staring at him shutting the door.


	10. Chapter 9

Tobias:

"Hey, what's wrong?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "Come on, Tris. Please tell me.

"Sebastian's a good person. He helped me a lot, became my first friend when I moved in here," I say, remembering the time I was angry and drunk in my room, and almost tore down the apartment complex. The man knocked down the door and clapped me on the back and said, "Wrecking these walls won't bring anything back." He made me end the destruction that reminded me of my father, and brought me to my senses.

"It must be a coincidence."

"What?" Tris shakes her head again.

"The Fourth City. A guard used to say that all the time."

Her hands shake as she brings them to her ears, trying to block out invisible noise. She must hear her own screams just as I heard my mother's, locked in the dark closet filled with what I believed was monsters when they were truly marks—scars of him.

I walk to her, and bring my arms around her. I don't know if it helps her, but it helps me. Maybe it comforts me to have her safe and warm in my arms than it does her. "I promised you, remember? I will never let them touch you ever again."

Tris breathes heavily, chest shaking. "I remember. I trust you."

"Good." I grab her shoulders to look at her. Her pale blue eyes strike me, and we look at each other for a while. Then, the inevitable.

I press my mouth to hers, taking her in, smelling her sweet musk, and tasting her sweat, and savor the kiss. A few months ago, I was only permitted to do this in my dreams; but now this is real. Just as I am real to her, she is real to me.

Knocks come in the middle of the night. I suppose it's Zeke, coming with news—once Tris was asleep, I called Zeke to investigate Sebastian. I did not doubt her instincts, but I did not want to worry her.

I open the door to the apartment. It isn't Zeke—it's Sebastian, suit and tie formality complete. My heart thumps in my chest. Act calm. He probably doesn't know your intentions, act calm.

"Hey, Sebastian. How are you?"

"Fine, Mr. Eaton. Perfectly fine." He smiles. I am fooled for a second, and it takes only a second for me to be knocked flat on my back, his foot colliding with my abdomen. The air is knocked out of my windpipe, and I cannot scream for help.

Once I've regained my composure, I jump up; but it's too late. Tris has woken up from the other room, and entered the scene of the fight.

"Ah, Ms. Prior," Sebastian says. I scratch my ear again at the sound of her last name.

Tris's eyes widen with fear. It is enough to anger me. I run to my false neighbor, of almost two years of residence and friends; and forget about the lies. I grab him at the waist and throw him down.

The next second, I am down on the ground, bodies swarming onto me. Of course he brought a whole army. "Coward!" I say. "Fight us on your own!"

"Well, that would not be the most intelligent decision, would it, Mr. Eaton?" he snaps.

A child's scream sounds, and I direct my attention toward Tris. Her mouth is open, and she stares at a man, gray hair and pure white suit, walking toward her. I struggle helplessly against the soldiers. "Don't touch her," I growl, earning a smack in the ear and a punch in the face, groaning.

Tris looks from David, I presume, to me worriedly, hands clenched by her sides. "Hello, Beatrice," David says. "I hope you haven't forgotten about us."

To this, Tris swings her fist, and connects with David's nose. He reels back in pain, groaning at the sudden defense, and I take advantage of the distraction of the three soldiers holding me down. I take the nearest guard and swing him onto the ground, then pick him up and use him to tackle the rest of the soldiers. Rapidly, I jump up and my fist greets his jaw with a flash. I may be done with guns, but my knuckles remain weapons for self defense.

But I have only my fists against a gunfight—multiple soldiers storm the apartment, each harboring machine guns of incredible size, and both Tris and I are seized by the arms. It is useless to fight back, and Tris's stunned face tells me she understands.

Her lip quivers, but she is strong and brave. I long to reach out and touch her hand, to comfort her, to remind her of my presence, but the guards hold us back.

David stands and shakes his head, hand covering his nose and jaw, rubbing them with great irritation. "Restrain them. Mercilessly," he orders. I look towards Tris.

One guard kicks behind her knees, and she falls as the other gags her mouth as she is about to scream. Her hands are handcuffed behind her back, a black, airless hood thrown over her head and cinched tightly, and they drag her out the apartment. A sharp pain drives into my knees as soon as she is gone.

There is darkness as the hood goes around my neck, no hope, no light piercing through the deep, thick cloth.


	11. Chapter 10

Tris:

I sit, shivering, bound to a metal chair, blinded by this atrocious black hood. I can feel my pulse exploding with fear within me.

The darkness concedes, and the hood lifts, revealing blinding light, Tobias, tied in a chair in front of me also, and David and his soldiers, including Sebastian.

"Hello, Beatrice. Welcome back." He walks closer to me, and smiles. I spit mercilessly in his face.

I don't see the swing, but I feel the sharp pain across my face and groan. "Respect me, Beatrice. You want my mercy, believe me."

He turns to Tobias, who stares at him with gritted teeth and round, deep blue eyes. Anger seeps through his veins like never before. He promised me. He promised me.

This is what I have feared ever since my captivity began—that he would be taken also, and tortured along with me; that it would be my fault he would be hurt and hurt again. "Please, don't," I wheeze out to David, but in vain.

"Take him to the room," David commands, and Tobias is wrenched out of my sight without another word, leaving me screaming at him to stop, to come back, to release his anger to me. But David silences me—he turns to me and whips a metal object, a gun, perhaps, across my cheek, and darkness envelopes me in its horrendous embrace.

Tobias:

The guards drag me to another room, leaving Tris alone with David. They force me to sit in a metal chair similar to the one in the previous room, and leave. Is this what Tris had to survive through? I can barely hear anything out of the pounding of my heart, the blood pulse resounding in my ear like a drumming beat.

"Welcome, Mr. Eaton," a voice says over an intercom at the corner of the room. The room is white, and there is a blank space before me.

"What do you want?" I ask. A hum bursts into play, and a projector plays before me. It's Tris. In the very room I'm in. Tortured. I see her yell and scream as they beat her, as she is electrocuted, as they mercilessly torture her.

Tears slip through my eyes, and I look away. "Stop. I don't want to watch this."

"That's unfortunate," David says. The door opens, and the guards wrench my head to the side, and I feel a pinch in my neck—an injection.

"What is this?" I say. Then, I cannot move. My blood turns to molasses and my bones are rigid. I try to open my mouth, but no sound comes out.

"Now, you can watch."

I cannot move. I cannot turn my head away from the sight of her writhing in pain.

All I can do is watch.


	12. Chapter 11

Tris:

I wake up in a cell, small and compact. The cell door swings open as soon as my eyes open.

"David would like to see you now," says the guard. I stay still until three of them wrench me out of the room. I can barely see ahead of me, turning left and right, and a disarray of turns and hallways that I am disoriented by the time the soldiers throw me into a room.

The room swings and curves around me, spinning with ease and steadiness. They must have drugged me. My head pounds with pain.

I groan as a light on the other side of the room turns on—it is a two way glass; and on the other side is…Tobias.

His face is streaked with tears, and soon mine is, as well. What did they do to him?

I shout his name, but he shows no sign of being able to talk or move. His body sags against the chair, weak and submissive. They drugged him too.

David walks behind his chair. "Hello, Beatrice. In a few moments, you will tell me what I need to know."

"No," I say, my voice shaking. "I've already told you—I won't tell you what Jeanine—"

I am interrupted as the chair shakes with electricity, and I scream; I am fire, pure fire, white and hot and raging, pulsing in my veins and I pull my head back and yell in this hell-forbidden pain. Then, it stops, and my body sags against the chair once again.

This time, David holds a gun in his hands and stops in his circling pace around Tobias close to his legs. "Now, I will ask you one last time—what were Jeanine's results during your time in Erudite headquarters?"

I glare at him. He points the gun at Tobias's lower leg, and shoots. His screams pierce my ears, my heart, my tears. The blood spatters onto the ground, coming close to my own leg.

"Stop! Don't, please," I plead. In a moment, I am screaming, electricity shooting up my veins once again from the chair in a disarray of pain.

"Let's try this again," David says. He points the gun to Tobias's knee. "If I pull the trigger of this gun, I will break Mr. Eaton's kneecap, and he will never be able to walk on this leg again. Tell me what I need to know."

Tobias shakes his head, tears coming down his face, groaning and clenching his teeth in pain. I am crying, and sobbing, "No." I cannot let him have that information. If I do, it will be a repeat of Jeanine's endeavors. "No. I won't let you go make another serum and capture an entire city under mind control and turn them into murderers."

A gunshot fills the air.


	13. Chapter 12

Omniscient POV, Hours Before:

A tall, dark man arrives at the legendary Four's apartment. He's a Pedrad—Zeke Pedrad; and his moment of confusion is drawn completely on his usually laughing face. The door to the apartment is thrust ajar, and no one is in it. No Tobias. No Tris.

He leaves frantically, hopping into his standard police car. It's black, with a strip of white; not so sturdy like trucks around the area, but fast—and right now, that's all he needs. Fast.

Zeke stops in front of what used to be Dauntless headquarters, and runs in, talking in his police radio along the way, weaving breaths of air into the conversation. "Hey, Amar, we need backup. Any we can spare. Meet us at one of David's former housings—the Rebel Trio's abandoned warehouse."

The oldest Pedrad son bangs open the doorway of his apartment, for the first time in years, yells at his mom. "Where's Uri? We got to go! Oh, God, we got to go now!"

"What's with you, Zeke?" Uriah asks from the corner of the dining table, where his mom and Uriah are staring at him with wide confusion. What Uriah truly said rather sounded like this: "Warsh wish tyu, Sheke?" But Zeke ignored his younger brother gorging himself on food.

"Four and Tris are gone. They've been taken. My bet is that they're where one of David's abandoned where house is—more specifically, the Rebel Trio's housing." Now he had his attention. Uriah springs up, stuffs the last bits of Dauntless cake in his mouth, and sprints alongside Zeke, both of them yelling goodbye to Hana, their mother.

Present Time:

"Go, go, go," whispers Zeke, the leader of the command unit composed of three GD soldiers, Uriah, Amar, George, and Christina. They enter the warehouse, cold and large; heavily secure.

Gunshots fill the compound as guards fall down left and right, smoke billowing from the barrels of machine guns. It's the dead of night. No one is there for backup; no one is there to witness anything. They act like a covert mission, saving agents from torture. This, in a way, is exactly what they're doing.

They clear the whole building—nothing, until they reach the back: where they reach a room that's locked from the outside and nothing but screaming can be heard inside.

"It's them," Christina says with worry.

Zeke nods. "Let's go."

A gunshot fills the air.


	14. Chapter 13

Tobias POV:

I feel the cold metal circle of the barrel weighing into my knee. My heart pounds with fear. My leg seeps blood at a rapid pace, pain pulsing in it. All I do, all that can calm me, is Tris's eyes. The mixture of bravery and defiance, the selflessness, staring me down, drawing me into its striking embrace.

The bang of a gunshot—and I find it strange that I don't feel any pain. I look down at my knee. It's still intact; and no gunshot entered there. I look up at David. He stares at the door with anger.

Looking first at Tris, who is breathless from the electrocution, then at the door, I am racked with confusion. Both doors bust open at the same time, and David drops the gun in a flash, putting his hands up. Three other soldiers put a gun to his head and force him to his knees, handcuffing him.

I am smiling, smiling through the pain once I see who it is. "Zeke," I wheeze out. "Never a moment too soon."

He smiles alongside Amar and George, clapping me on the back, and sees me wince, so draws his arm back. "You being a Stiff, or are you hurt?"

"Leg," I manage to mumble, and check on Tris on the other side of the room. She is smiling—more like wincing, and being carried by Uriah and Christina, arms slung around their shoulders. "But Tris has been hurt more than me in this ordeal."

"Come on, man," Zeke says. "We got to get you guys to the hospital."

He turns to David. "We've been looking for this pansycake for a while. I've heard you have information on the Rebel Trio. I've been looking for that information."

Zeke grins an icy, false smile that's threatening in every way. Hilarious—this is Zeke in his finest moment. I walk out, supported by Amar and George, out of the room—leaving Zeke to deal with David—wincing as the pain in my leg inflames with each step.

Tris:

I dry the warm shower water out of my hair, longer than when I was an initiate. The snow is barely brimming, slowly beginning to fade away and bring forth spring instead of winter.

Christina and Uriah assured me last night that Tobias would be well soon; that all was needed was surgery. I hope they're right. I walk out of my room, and into the adjacent one, Tobias's, which they told me he was in after my constant begging.

"Tobias," I say. "Are you okay?" I see him in bed, his leg propped up in an unearthly cast that is larger than his body. It almost makes me laugh, seeing Tobias in such an unnatural position.

"Yeah," he says, straining his voice. "Only…uncomfortable."

"Yes, I can see."

He grins as I walk closer to his bed, sitting on the chair and scooting it closer to him. "Last time, it was you who stayed with me. My turn."

I look into his eyes, dark blue and unwavering, and lean down, pressing my lips against his, sweetly. It lasts for eternity, long enough for a lifetime of hurt and pain and violence to be forgotten, to be entwined into one another's and healed.

"I feel as if we always find ourselves in these situations," Tobias says.

"Which part? The hospital or the kiss?"

"Both, of course," he smiles. Then he doesn't, as if gravity dragged down the levity of the conversation. He touches my cheek, his hand cool and soothing. "I promised you I would never let them touch you again. I didn't keep that promise. I'm sorry."

I look away, somewhere south of his eyes. I've thought of it, but never too deep into the matter. There was nothing he could have done. It was inevitable. "No. Don't start blaming yourself, Tobias. You know this isn't your fault. There was nothing you could do to stop it."

"But I should have—"

I interrupt him, cupping his cheek and forcing his open mouth onto mine, crashing into each other violently in an odd formation of lips, chairs, and leg casts. I let go and grin. "Keep your leg up. The sooner you get better, the sooner we can continue this."


	15. Chapter 14

Tris POV:

Zeke, Uriah, and Christina enter the room. "Any news?" I ask. "Did he tell you anything?"

"Oh, he told me plenty. He was very favorable in the eyes of law enforcement, but he is in the target list of hundreds of rebels. He turned over the Rebel Trio," Zeke reports, a triumphant smile plastered on his face.

"Who is the Rebel Trio?" Tobias asks.

"The Rebel Trio is the leaders of the whole city of rebels. They have campsites and warehouses they use as headquarters and controlling stations. They've been terrorizing the GDs and GPs alike who believe that this genetic thing doesn't matter anymore. And they're active in researching ways to make others genetically pure."

"So basically the bad guys," Uriah suggests with a smile. "But we got one of them. And he ratted out the other two."

Zeke clears his throat. "Four, you might not want to know…"

Tobias tenses next to me. "Just say it. "

Again, Zeke clears his throat. "Zoe from the Bureau is the third-in-command. And the second-in-command of the Rebel Trio is Evelyn Johnson."

Tobias POV:

Everything stops, freezes in time, submersed underwater. My mother. No. Her name is Evelyn; I never wanted to acknowledge her as my mother when I left the City three years ago. So long ago, and we started to recreate a relationship. Repair what respect we had for each other.

Now this.

Broken things need mending, but not like this, not when the other person refuses to cooperate or at least try to repair our relationship.

Should I have trusted her? My own mother?

Tris's hand touches my shoulder lightly. "Obviously we need time to…process this."

Zeke nods. "Of course, man, sure. We'll go."

Zeke and Uriah exit the room, but I barely notice Christina still there. "Listen, Four, Tris, there might be a cover-up—David might be making this up."

"I very much doubt that," I say too harshly.

"It's okay, Christina. We just need some time," Tris quickly replies in spite of my curtness, and I flush with shame. All I hear is the door closing.

"It's fine, Tobias. We should let the others handle this. When was the last time you saw Evelyn?" Tris asks casually, but not truly casual. It is an act to comfort me, to pretend this will end swiftly and cleanly.

"She looked for a job in the fringe a couple of days before you came back. Before Zeke and Uriah found you."

Tris nods in understanding, and I can hear and see her brain shifting, thinking. It's no wonder she received an aptitude for Erudite in her aptitude test, included in her Divergence. Her intelligence is founded in her ability to think in the midst of fear. "It's not impossible, Tobias."

"I know," I say.

She shakes her head, the golden hair sweeping onto my shoulders, and I take her smell in as if it is the last thing I will be able to smell. "But you need some rest. I'll leave you now. Sleep, okay? No sneaking out and investigating this thing with Evelyn."

"Oh, you're giving me ideas. I might be prompted to do something ridiculous."

"Shut up," she says with a smile. My hand lifts with its own accord, bringing her face down to mine and kissing her—first her cheeks, then the tip of her cold nose, then lastly, her lips. "Good night, Tobias."

"Good night, Tris."


	16. Chapter 15

Tris POV:

I have to find out what Evelyn's plan is. I cannot let Tobias do it. I close my eyes as I push his hospital door shut. But we promised each other. No more lies.

I breathe out a heavy sigh and shake my hands out. Why Evelyn? Why not someone else? Despite my encouragements, I know as a fact that Evelyn joined the Rebel Trio—she demands power and attention, a point in living in this City without unleashing its memories. I know it as much as Tobias does; there is no convincing him anything else.

A set of running footsteps near me, and I open my eyes to see Christina, her brown hair longer and flowing, coming up to me. "Hey, Tris," she shouts. "Do you have a place to stay?"

"No," I say, grinning at her. I haven't had a spare amount of time to spend with Christina, but we're still close—best friends, even. "Is that an invitation?"

"Gosh, all your Stiff qualities are gone," Christina teases. "Let's go, I'm going to give you some fun."

I roll my eyes and follow Christina toward Candor.

Tris POV:

"Christina," I say as she applies something thin and dark to my eyes, "Do you really think Evelyn is behind all this?"

She sighs, and doesn't answer my question; she only outlines my eyes, making them striking and bold like the first night that our friendship was sealed in Dauntless initiation. We have come such a long way in three years; even longer than that. Even before Tobias, Christina was there for me first in the awakening of a new faction, a new condition, a new life. That choice, in the Choosing Ceremony, my act of betrayal towards my parents, but my act of bravery, has transformed me beyond my imagination.

"There," Christina says, and she turns my chair toward the mirror in her black and white Candor apartment, located in the upstairs of Merciless Mart. "Look at you. Your eyes just…pop out!" Since the war, the workers and survivors have cleaned the building quite well, made it impressive and pure, the words Merchandise Mart unrepaired, for repairing such a landmark would mean forgetting. And forgetting means nothing would be remembered, the lessons we have learned of humanity: that genetic information does not separate into classes, that everyone is different, would be forgotten.

"Christina—"

"I know, I know. Honestly?"

I smirk. "Does now seem like the time for honesty?"

She laughs, a light opening of her mouth and the smell of spring. I smile slightly, but I still retain a serious set of eyes upon her, telling her I need her answer. "Tris, you know as well as I do that Evelyn is fully capable of doing so."

Christina cleans the table up, leaving me staring at my own reflection as I never had before. I've lost too much weight. Even before initiation, my body contained more mass than I am right now. If I were in a fight, I would not be able to fight back.

"But no, she is not the mastermind. I don't think so."

"Why not? She is fully capable, and she has past history of doing it. She can do it again. For power. For control." I sound disgusted of her, and I am. She left Tobias. And pleaded for his return only to control his actions as if he was a child underneath her throne of lies. A grudge. I have forgiven my brother; but not her.

"Because I believe that people change, Tris. I do. I know because I've changed. I've changed with Uriah, and I've changed with you. And I think Evelyn has, too."

I smile, a genuine smile that can only exist when friends are there to comfort you. Christina and I do not cry, do not hug, do not sniffle. No—we are not the type to do that. We sit, her on her apartment bed, me on the chair she set me on, and we stare at each other in gratitude without saying a word. Until we hear the thundering footsteps and reloading of guns.

"What is that? Who? Did they find us already?" Christina snaps into action without another word. She reaches down underneath her bed and grabs a pistol, handing it to me. "You should see the wardrobe." The closet doors open adjacent to the bed, and it reveals Christina's personal arsenal. "Grab some," she orders, and we grab machine guns, pistols, and extra magazines; one, two, and three each, respectively.

"I got a feeling about this. Like it's almost at the end."

"Don't talk like that, Christina," I say, gritting my teeth to remain steady. "Don't you die on me. Not on me."

She grins, sending shivers down my shoulders; like this will be the last time I will see my best friend, my first friend, my first true friend from the moment we met on the train, through Will's murder, and through my supposed death. Through it all, she has been my best friend alongside Tobias. "Of course not, you Stiff. You think I'll let a pansycake like you roam around all day without someone to do something to that face of yours?"

I smile, and drive our conversation toward staying alive. "We should turn over the bed and use it as a cover. We wait, and then we ambush them." In a minute, the mattress is out of the bed itself, which blocks the entrance of her apartment. We wait, as was suggested. But no soldier comes through the door, even though we heard an army coming for us. I close my eyes, and think of him, his lips, his smile; and wonder if they have come for him as well. Christina's hand comes down on my shoulder. "I'm sure he's okay, Tris," she encourages. "They'll have to go through Zeke and Uriah to get to the hospital."

I nod as she continues. "You know, after the whole thing about you at the Bureau…Tobias was comforted in ignoring guns. He was like you after Will. But me?"

She turns her head to me after looking at the ground for an eternity, and her mouth moves in an attempt to smile. It looks like a grimace. "I took solace in gaining weapons. Like that arsenal. Like joining the police force." Christina shrugs. "Maybe it's the Dauntless in me, or maybe it's just how grief brings the sadism out of me."

"That's not sadism, Christina," I comfort. "That's just you being you. You trying your best to cope, to live; and no one can judge you for that because everyone does everything they have to do to survive."

She grins. "Well, it's definitely the Candor in me that's telling you all this."

Knocks on the door, violent and rapid bursts of knuckle against wood. We both think of it at the same time. "They're here."

They don't wait. The door bursts open, and bullets tear through the room. But we answer.

At first I see him, Will, with the crease in his forehead and his shaggy hair, but I shake it out of my head. I am past that point—free, not of guilt, but of the memory and the weight. So I shoot back. Two soldiers are down, and with Christina's help, the blood of six men, wearing black masks, are splattered about the floor.

But there are so many more. At least twelve burst into the room, knocking down the wooden frame of the bed and the door, and shoot across the room, ripping through the mattress. Christina screams beside me; a sharp, steady pain rips across the flesh of my arm, and I yelp.

I turn to Christina, one hand clamped over the graze on my right arm as I let my gun sling across my chest. Her face is as pale as her skin tone can allow, and her hands are to her stomach, pain drawn upon her face. I gasp as she falls to the floor and guards surround us, grabbing my arms, wrenching me back as I protest.

"No!" I yell, as I see blood seeping across Christina's clothes, red against the white blouse she wears today. "Stop, stop, no! Christina!"

"I need her alive," says a voice, high and familiar. But it isn't David, or Evelyn—it must be Zoe. "Tris Prior. Not the other girl—Christina, was it?"

I struggle against them, elbowing one in the nose and kicking one in the groin—which allows a second of freedom. I scramble toward Christina, and surprising, not one of them stop me. I reach her, my best friend, my first true friend, Christina; and her eyes are almost closed as I close my hands around hers, trying to stop the bleeding even though I know. I know it's too late. "No, Christina, you…"

Her breaths are barely audible, so when she whispers something, I have to lean in to listen. "I'm so…glad…we met." She smiles, and her hand covers mine, blood covering my hand and running down my fingers, but I don't care. I don't care. "Don't take this…the wrong way, Stiff…but…I love you."

I feel her body sag beneath my fingers, but I don't want to see. Don't want to see her. Don't want to see Christina not be Christina, not be strong, not be lovely and pretty and loud and everything that is Dauntless and brave, and why I chose Dauntless in the first place—she is free, free as the mountain air, free as the ravens on my collarbone, free as the wind on the trains.

And I think I scream, and I think I cry, but I don't know anything anymore; I don't know anything now that my best friend is dead. I am faintly aware that I am being watched, but I have never cared less about anything at all until now.

Through the pain, I welcome the darkness of unconsciousness.

**Um...oops? Sorry?**

**You guys probably want to kill me now. *smiles innocently* *offers Pocky***


	17. Chapter 16

**So, you guys are pretty mad at me...and the Pocky I offered you seems to have done nothing...but it will get better! Promise. **

**Maybe.**

Tobias POV:

I open my eyes to the morning sun rising above the pure white snow, expecting to see her golden hair framing her pale face, kissing my cheek good morning and teasing her for more.

But I don't. I'm disappointed. The door opens and a nurse rushes in, introducing herself as Nurse Jackie; questioning about how I'm feeling while nervously checking the machines. She tells me the bullet didn't hit the bone, so it will heal within a week. Clatters, running footsteps, and yelling sound outside the room. After the outbreak, the door bangs open. Uriah.

His warm eyes are concerned and fleeting; his face is drowned of humor. "Tris and Christina were supposed to stay together at her apartment. But when I got there this morning, Christina was shot. The place is wrecked. And we can't find Tris."

My heart skips several counts, my body goes numb. I can't feel anything. It was inevitable; especially if there are three members of the Rebel Trio. But never, never did I expect it to be this soon. "Well, we have to find her," I say, and attempt to wrench my leg out of its caged safety; but both Uriah and the nurse push me back down.

"You, Mr. Eaton, are not going anywhere," the nurse orders. Her commands ring of steel and sharpness, though her face is pleasant and polite. "I'm a friend of the Pedrads. You're not leaving until you get well. Zeke's orders."

I scowl, and turn to Uri, who also has a stoic look on his face. I sit back down, and think it through, just like Tris would. "Christina?" I ask.

Uriah's face falls, and in his eyes he bears a look of deep sadness. "She didn't make it. She was shot in the stomach, but no vital organs were hit. The thing is, she's been lying there for two hours. The blood loss was insane."

"I'm sorry, Uri." Uriah nods. I feel hollow. Christina was there for me, a true friend, throughout the times when Tris was dead. She was Tris's best friend. More than grief, is the anger. "If you were Zoe, where would you go? Not anywhere of the known safe houses, but where?"

Something inside Uriah clicks and his eyes light up as mine does with him. We arrive at the same conclusion: "The Bureau."

Tris POV:

My head pounds, and there is a bandage, tightly wrapped around my arm. I sit up rapidly, sending waves of pain against my arm. I am quartered in a cell, not larger than myself—six feet wide, long, and high.

Memory rushes in, and along with it, immediate sadness. I am crippled by the loss of my best friend; at the sight of her bleeding in the apartment. Tears threaten to spill, but I know they are watching. Zoe.

I can't let them do this again. I will get out this time. I will.

As if on cue, the door opens, two guards standing in the hallway. I stand, ignoring the rush of pain, and welcoming the numb of adrenaline. I spring to action. I run toward the first guard, and take his gun from the waistband, and shoot him in the chest. He falls, as well as the other one rushing in to help his fallen comrade. He is shot in the leg, and once again in the stomach.

I steal his bigger gun, a submachine gun, automatic and easier to press the trigger, and run out of the cell. I recognize this place in one glance. The Bureau. I shake memories out of my head, and walk further. After hallways of unfamiliar doors, I stop in the courtyard—where the stone statue stands, and the water rushes in. I walk past it, and to David's—or who we thought was David—former office. Zoe must be there.

I stand thirty yards from it. Guards are there, and I remain hidden. My heart pounds, and a throb of guilt of what I am about to do irritates me inside of my head. But I know what I'm about to do. I will kill Zoe for letting them kill Christina, for ruining three years of my life—I've never felt so angry of anything before.

_But Caleb? What about Caleb_, says the voice in my head. _You forgave him, didn't you? And that betrayal stung more, didn't it? He was your own brother._

Again, I shake the voice out of my head and let anger overcome it. I grit my teeth, and put the pistol in my belt. Raising the submachine gun, an unnecessary battle cry rises from my lips, shaking with anger and resentment. She killed her. She killed her.

I press the trigger, holding it as I aim the gun towards soldier after soldier, and they all fall—until three remain, and all that is left of my gun are clicks. I run left and right towards them, dodging stray bullets that threaten to rip me apart, and grab the pistol from my belt, letting the empty, larger gun to fall against my chest, thumping like my heart.

Another bullet rips the flesh of my arm, ripping the bandage off, exposing and hurting an old wound. But the one who fired that falls in an instant as my bullet hits his heart. Two guards corner me, and one rushes onto me, knocking me on the ground, and pressing me head to the side.

My knee collides with his throat, and his breaths are raspy and hard, falling to the ground beside me, holding his neck with a grunt. For now, he is immobile. But one more guard left.

He points his gun at my head, but I know he won't shoot. If they wanted to kill me, they already would have. But they didn't. They need me for something. I kick the gun out of his grasp, and stand, dizzy from the blood loss of my arm, heart thumping to replace it.

The back of his hand hits the side of my head, and my arm comes to block his next jab. On my feet. That's all I can think of. On. My. Feet.

Elbows, I think, elbows—Tobias told me when I first started to fight in initiation that to win, I had to use my elbows and be fast. My right elbow smashes into his jaw, and he backs away as I rush toward him. My arm coils around his throat in a chokehold, and I carry him with me toward the office door. I smack his head on the door, opening it and rendering him unconscious.

He falls to the ground in a second, and I take his pistol out of his hands. I enter the office.

"Hello, Tris," Zoe says as I enter, training my gun on her face. "I know you won't kill me. You need information."

She is haughty and prideful, bliss in arrogance and irritable qualities. An Erudite, though not all Erudite are like this. "No, I won't," I lie. If Tobias was here, he'd make a joke about not being Candor. But he isn't. Not yet.

"But I can make you feel pain; pain like you've never felt before. Just like you did with Christina." A lump in my throat forms as I mention her name.

"You know, Ms. Prior, I heard that she didn't die when we left. I heard from my resources at the hospital that she bled out by the minute, slipping in and out of consciousness. Imagine the pain…"

"Shut up!" I yell, my vision clouding. I blink the tears out, and glare at her. "I am going to ask you a few questions. You will answer them. Every time you don't, I will not hesitate to shoot you in a place with no vital organs; so you can bleed out, as you say, like Christina. Now don't worry. I will kill you. It's only a matter of time. So do something right in your sorry life and tell me what I need to know."


	18. Chapter 17

Tobias POV:

Uriah runs out the door and calls Zeke, who promptly also comes in the room. "Okay, we're calling a team and bursting into the Bureau. The order from my boss is to keep her alive and get Tris out."

I nod. "Sounds like a good plan." They nod and run out the door as I say, "Good luck." They'll need it, I think to myself.

Tris POV:

Zoe reduces her eyes into slits, staring at me with amusement. She laughs out loud, throwing her head back as I grip the gun. "You don't have the guts, Prior. What was his name? Will?"

It works. His name is a blow to the stomach, and instinctively, I clutch it, doubling over, remembering the slump and the bullet hole and Eric. "That's right," Zoe continues. "All your friends are dead. Because of you."

I am having difficulty breathing, tears blurring my vision, my arms dropping. "Does it feel horrible, Beatrice? The guilt of killing him?"

But Christina. Christina forgave me. But now she's dead. Because of Zoe.

I regain my focus, blinking back tears and lifting the gun once again, conscious to the weight and the burden it once held. She needs to stop talking. I point the gun to her shoulder, and fire.

Her screams resound about the compound; her glare can kill animals. "Well, well, looks like Prior's got some—"

"What do you want from me? Why did you take me?" I demand. Her cackle sounds like knives and nails.

"You, my dear," Zoe replies with gritted teeth, "have no authority over me. If it were up to me, I would have shot you by now. You would be in a basement, at one of our safe houses, and I would be torturing you for information. But now, we use a different method."

"What method? What are you talking about?" Presently, a group of soldiers rush in, dressed in Dauntless black and wearing threatening masks. There are five of them—I can't beat that many and I consider using Zoe as a hostage—

"Tris, it's Uriah. And Zeke," a familiar voice says, and two of the soldiers pull their masks off, revealing warm, tan faces drained of humor. I breathe a sigh of relief. Then I remember. "Uri, Christina's…"

He looks away and to the ground. "I know." I nod. They found her body. I blink tears away. Uriah and Zeke look at the bullet wound Zoe has, blood steadily dripping out of it. "So, you've started to have a grown-up conversation with Zoe," Zeke says, and a grin that breaks ice appears on his face. This is charismatic, detective Zeke; the superhero who fights for justice and interrogates criminals. Tobias told me of this side of him, and it amuses me as much as peace serum does.

"Looks like we're going to have to take you in, Zoe," Zeke teases, and her eyes turn as black as her hair; her freckles against her pale face look as if they are on fire.

"I'm not sure you understand," Zoe replies. She holds up her right hand, causing all of us to train her guns on her. She laughs. "Easy. It's a remote control. If I press this button—" Zoe hovers over the space of a large red button on the black console. "The hospital you just left, Pedrad, will explode into fragments. Along with Christina's body and Mr. Eaton."

My bones chill. "You're bluffing," I say, unconvinced of myself.

"Am I? If I drop this, or you take it from me, or you kill me—the bomb will set off. It's a dead man's switch, Ms. Prior. You will release David and you, Prior, will come with us, or I will kill Tobias Eaton and countless of innocent civilians. It's entirely your choice."

For a moment, we stare at each other, breathing heavily, full of hesitations. I contemplate whether it is the right thing to do. I believe it is—Zeke can hatch up a plan to capture Zoe and David afterwards. Then Zeke speaks. "What's to say that you won't blow it up when we give you David and Tris, anyway?"

"I give you my word, Mr. Pedrad." But I know from experience that Zoe's word is not worth anything.


	19. Chapter 18

Tobias POV:

I am restless. It's numbing, the nervousness, and I hate waiting. Waiting for news; waiting for my father to come home and waiting for his patience to wear out. Waiting for death in Erudite.

The door bursts open. It isn't Nurse Jackie—it's someone else; someone with long brown hair tied in a ponytail and tan skin. "Hello, Tobias," says a familiar voice. She looks up, and my eyes widen at the sight. Nita.

My hand jerks of its own volition, and it slams against the nurse calling button. Nita follows my hand with panic. I don't even see her. But she runs toward me, and ties my hand to the hospital bed. I open my mouth to yell, but she anticipates this; and my mouth is stuffed with cloth. I lift my other hand up, but I've already lost. Without a word, Nita zip ties the other hand as well.

I protest in muffled screams, but she's already put a baseball cap on and discarded her nurse uniform, revealing jeans and a gray shirt. I wouldn't have recognized her in it—which is most likely the point.

I struggle against the bonds, choking on the wet cloth that imprisons my screams, but it's no use. I can only pray that Nurse Jackie will come. "Don't worry, Tobias," Nita says. "I'm not here to kill you, unfortunately. Just to make you stay in the hospital."

The door kicks open. Nurse Jackie. Swiftly, her red hair swinging at her speed, she punches Nita in the jaw, who in favor returns a kick to the stomach. Doubling over, she backs away and reveals a gun from inside her uniform in places I will never understand just as Nita grabs hers from her belt. They each have their guns trained on each other, each equal in size and skill. Then Nita smiles. "Why don't we both do this without guns, Jackie? I'm sure you'll keep your word. Come on. Drop it at the same time?"

"Like your brother did to mine?" Jackie nearly yells. "I don't think so." Her freckles burn with anger; her face is red with frustration. And she pulls her trigger; and Nita does hers as she clutches her stomach in pain while Jackie jerks to the side to dodge it. Both women groan in pain; Nita holding her abdomen, Jackie clutching her shoulder where the bullet entered, staining her white uniform with blood.

Nita's ponytail becomes undone, and her dark hair covers her face of anger. But her teeth are visible—gritted and hard with pain. "Well," she strains, "Looks like I got to go, Jacqueline. Guess I'll see your brother in hell." With that, Nita scrambles out the door, blood trailing where she left.

Jackie turns to me and brings out a knife from her chest pocket, flipping it open. "We don't have time," she says, cutting my bonds open, and getting the gag out of my mouth. "Zoe plans to blow the hospital up. The bomb is in the storage room, and I can't disarm it without setting of an alarm that will set it off. I've evacuated the rest of the hospital quietly, without alerting Nita. But now, Nita knows and will radio it in. We have to move."

Jackie shoots the cast holding my leg up, causing it to drop abruptly. Shocks of pain move across my leg as she undoes the white bandages covering it. I stand with one leg, leaning onto Jackie with an arm slung across her shoulders and walk toward the door. A loud beeping noise sounds, and both our eyes widen.

Jackie jerks us toward the window, blood seeping through her shoulder, and jumps through it, crashing us both through glass, cutting into our skin; but we are free, we are out of the hospital as we scream in pain, and we feel the heat crackle and the hospital explode as we jump out, rolling onto the grass. We watch as the hospital dies in flames, as ashes fall onto us like snow.

We are bruised. We are bleeding. But we are alive.


	20. Chapter 19

Tris POV:

My hands tighten around the gun as Zoe teases us with the remote. "What's your choice?" Then a radio's crackle sounds, and Zoe's calm, nonchalant face submerses into panic. With her injured hand, she reaches over the desk to grab her radio. Despite the team's orders to put it down, she listens to the radio in fear.

"They're escaping. That Nurse—Jacqueline Matthews—she found the bomb. She's escaping with the target." Through the static, I recognize the voice. Nita's. "Blow it up. Do it."

"No!" I yell, but it's too late. Zoe smiles as she drops the remote, and from here, we can hear the sound of an explosion, the crackling of fire as the remote hits the ground. It knocks the breath out of me, as I imagine his body, and Christina's body, in flames, screaming as fire ignites his bones. I gasp despite myself and drop the gun.

She's killed him. Not only my best friend, but Tobias. She killed him. I scream as I jump toward her, and Zeke and Uriah follow, wrenching her arms behind her back and tying her hands, but I punch her in the jaw as my vision blurs from the tears.

Uri and Zeke bear faces of sorrow, faces wrenched in pain as if they've been shot. I walk away, though I don't see where I'm going, but I start running, running toward the flames faster than I've ever run before, because he's dead. It hurts more than anything, more than the three years in captivity, more than the whip and the water and the chair used to break me.

Everyone is dying because of me. Dead. No longer alive and smiling, he can never kiss me again, never touch me again, never stroke my hair and hold me in his arms. I shiver and I am cold, colder than the winter sky, than the snow that falls in blizzards. He's dead.

I reach the hospital, burning in the flames, the grass dead beneath and beside it. The heat doesn't warm me up; only his arms will ever be able to do that. I will be frozen for life. Without him…God, what is life without Tobias Eaton?

I feel myself drop to my knees in front of it, not caring that the flames lick dangerously close to me, and I am screaming in front of the hospital, now a grave of innocent people seeking to defy the grave itself. I am so cold, wrapping my arms around myself as I kneel in front of the fire. My sobs fill the air, the only living being within the radius of the hospital.

A rustling, and a groan. It can't be him. Can it?

I look up. Bloody and burnt, arms slung around each others to support one another, one leg dragged behind him, is Tobias. Beside him, a nurse.

I can't breathe. I can't. He's not real. Is he?

I stare at him, my mouth open in shock. They reach me, and I am trembling, like I've seen a ghost. I have, haven't I?

"Tris," he says, and the way his mouth moves, the gentle lips when he kisses, the stick out ears, the dark blue eyes—they're there. He's alive. He's alive.

I cry out his name, sobbing it as I stand and run toward him. "Tobias. Tobias."

I fling myself onto him, crying and sobbing, catching him by surprise as I forget about his leg, forget that another person is beside him. "I thought you were dead! Damn it, Tobias, I thought I lost you!"

"You didn't," he comforts, his voice strained with effort. It's then I let go, and turn toward the nurse. "Thank you," I say, and I fail to keep my voice steady.

She nods, and holds out her uninjured hand; the other shoulder slung around Tobias's, blood dripping onto his shirt. Tobias looks around, concerned, eyebrows furrowing with sweat. "Where is everyone?"

"Zeke and Uriah are on the way," I say, and choke on tears. "Christina's dead. We caught Zoe."

His eyes soften. "I thought you were gone, too. But that's not what I meant." He glances at the nurse. "Jackie, you said you evacuated the hospital."

She looks down, guilt reflecting in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Eaton. I told you that lie so you could get out of there. I know you wouldn't agree to leave without the others leaving first."

"So you lied to me?" Tobias retorts, anger present on his face. I realize he doesn't want to be near her; and I let him sling his arm onto my shoulders and make distance from the nurse. "And now how many innocent people died in there? Because you refused to do what was right?"

"Twenty-four, Tobias," Jackie replies at an equal volume of rage. "Sixteen patients, seven nurses, and one doctor. Don't think my conscience disappeared, Eaton, and don't you dare think YOU carry the weight of them. It goes bigger than you two, their plan. I know how to fight, but I am a nurse. I knew most of the patients there. And you were more important."

"Why?" Tobias wheezes. "What is going on? Who are you?"

A car drives up, the sound of footsteps approach us. "Well. Isn't this the year of surprises?" Zeke and Uriah approach Tobias and hug him, Dauntless style, the uncomfortable feelings drawn on Tobias's face.

Zeke turns to Jackie and nods. "Thanks. I was counting on you."

In turn, Jackie replies, "I know you were. But I think it's time for the big reveal, Pedrad." Zeke and Uriah approve, nodding their heads.

"I am," Jackie says reluctantly, "Jacqueline Matthews, and my mother was Jeanine Matthews."


	21. Chapter 20

Jackie's Story:

"I was born in Erudite headquarters. I was raised discreetly in the shadows of my mother and her followers until I was eight. When I turned nine, my mother and her Erudite helpers discovered my nature: I am genetically pure. A Divergent. My mother became obsessed with the idea of Divergence, and our immunity toward simulations, control, and conformity. I became a test monkey. The results were unclear. Five months after the testing starting, I was taken. When I woke from the supposed abduction, I met Nita, David, and the others. They explained everything, and told me I was far too young to be tested. They told me the truth. However, they, too, kept me in hiding. No one knew of me.

"The days grew by until I realized that the ones who saved me at the Bureau were also radicals motivated to do the unthinkable. I ran away, successfully, surprisingly. Another woman, whose identity I won't discuss, raised me as my own. The Rebel Trio plan to commit horrible crimes. They need Tris Prior and her information of my mother to develop a drug. They plan to obtain a pill where it can destroy all damaged genes and leave whole, pure genes. I have seen them test this drug before. The results were…unforgivable. It murdered the patients. They destroyed the evidence; and they plan to force whoever is not genetically pure to take the drug. It will kill everyone. You cannot let that happen."

Tris POV:

"Christina?" I say, unconvinced of her presence. Her skin is dark and her hair is long, hung down to her waist instead of tied with a band. She is strong and tall; she wears a white robe that flies freely in the wind behind her. Her smile is wide, but there is something about it that breaks my heart. My chest hurts from seeing her, and it breaks when she hugs me. She is warm, so warm. "Christina," I surrender, and melt into her embrace, sighing. My best friend. My best friend is here, she is alive, and warm and well and beautiful. The wind quivers and shakes us, but we are not separated. But Christina steps back, her hands resting on my shoulders, and her smile disappears. Her hands start to chill, and my face falls. I didn't realize I was smiling.

She frowns, her face paling. The ground beneath me turns wet, and I look down. It is red, red and sticky with blood. My head snaps back up at her, to glimpse at her, but she is already disappearing. Her body, faint, pale, and frowning, falls back and crumbles, the pieces breaking and fragments disintegrating, and I am screaming, screaming, screaming her name and this nightmare will not stop.

Tobias POV:

She screams and shivers in her sleep. We lay in the bed of Zeke's apartment, an offer made with dry humor and a warning not to be "too loud". After Jackie's explanation, we leave without question to process such information. Zeke and Uriah sleep in their other rooms with their mother, silence their response to grief. "Tris," I say. "Tris. Wake up. It's a dream. It's only a dream." I shake to wake her up, but she screams more. Her eyes snap open, her body jerks up. "Christina," Tris gasps. She turns to me, and her eyes are in peril. They scream what she does not: that she is in pain. "It was a nightmare. I'm here," I say, and put my arms around her, and realize she is cold beneath the thin blanket we wrap around ourselves. "I'm here, Tris, okay?"

Tris closes her eyes, the blue flame dying with each ember wrought upon the floor of her sorrow. Her best friend died yesterday. I myself cannot sleep, haunted by the screaming, burning deaths of innocent victims, also dying with each ember wrought upon the floor of the hospital. She wrinkles her nose, sniffling and wiping her tears from her cheeks. I decide to turn her around, pushing her head to my chest, letting her sob into it. "She was my best friend, Tobias. I loved her. God, I loved her."

I hold her tighter, gritting my teeth. Her tears are a stab in the heart, proof that I am too weak, too useless to protect her from being heartbroken, from being filled with grief. I remember I used to think she didn't need protecting from her emotions. That Tris was invincible. Time has proved otherwise. "She was my friend, too," I say. "I loved Christina, too. But we caught Zoe, Tris. We got her. We're bringing her to justice." She has stopped crying against me, and holds me tight. She is cold, shivering from the coolness of the night. "But it won't bring her back," she says. "She was so strong and beautiful…she is so free now, free…" With a heavy, quivering sigh, Tris stops mid-sentence. "It doesn't feel real, Tobias. It doesn't feel like I've lost my best friend, that I almost lost you; I think that when I wake up in the morning tomorrow, I will see her, and she'll force me to go to shops and draw black ink onto my eyelids, and I'll complain about it to her and she'll call me a Stiff. I just…I can't believe she's gone."

There is a silent moment where we lay there, arms around each others, remembering. Remembering Christina's warm smile, her angry, tired look when she stopped me from drowning in my cowardice, from making the wrong decisions; remembering her strength and her pride and her honesty. Her love for Will. Her love for Tris, for Uriah, for Lynn, for Marlene—Christina was one of our best. "I love you, Tris," I say, because there is nothing else to say but the truth. "And I loved Christina, too; and she loved you. There is all there is to it now."

She looks up, and our eyes meet, freezing me in place. Their blue is a flame that melts what chains and burdens that hold me down and sets me free, free as Christina, free as Tris when she flew down Lake Shore Drive on the zip line. Beautiful.

Tris POV:

We kiss under the covers, our mouths open. His hands slip under, as do mine, but that is as far as we go. We run our hands down the ink drawn upon our bodies, symbolizing where we draw our strength, our bravery, and our lives from. Though we are young—19 and 21, we understand far more than older adults who have never been through what we have. It intensifies, and soon, we find ourselves to be only skin and bed sheets. Somehow, we are different people, but we are one. We no longer belong to each other, nor do we merely support each other. We have become one.


	22. Chapter 21

Tris POV:

I wake when the covers behind me shift, and I quickly become cold. I turn, and Tobias sits, a guilty look drawn on his face. "Sorry. I didn't want to wake you." I shake my head, and trace his jaw line, from the sideburns to his chin, and pull press his lips to mine, remembering last night, when we promised each other many vows, with and without words.

He smiles, all teeth, and induces my grin to appear. "Come on," he says. "We got a lot of things to do today." His smile disappears with his voice, and he walks to the kitchen. "I'll get something to eat."

Soon, I am shaking shower water out of my hair and remember what we must do today. Today is Zoe and David's interrogation. The two suspects will be in the same room, and questions will rain down upon them. I step into the kitchen, eager to see what Tobias can prepare.

"All I found were eggs. Not exactly Dauntless style," he teases as he places scrambled eggs onto two plates. "They must be horrific," I say, equally teasing. As we eat, he grabs my hand. "No matter what happens, we'll be okay, okay?" I nod, knowing we will be together until the end, but worrying that the end might be too soon.

Tobias POV:

The walls of the interrogation room are gray and drab. It is torture enough to be left in the room alone, or with your main conspirator. As expected, Zoe and David squirm in their metal handcuffs and restrictions. They're uncomfortable, sitting five feet apart from each other, and believe they're about to be executed. My fault.

The cell is about seven feet tall, nine feet wide and long. Zeke walks around both of them, while Uriah, Tris, and I stand opposite to them, arms crossed over our chests. Intimidating. David seems to think it's funny, however.

"Yes, you three do look a bit tense. Why don't we lose the metal things and sit down a bit more civilized and have some drinks?"

"The only drinks you'll get," says Zeke pointedly, "Is the water my guards will use to waterboard you. Any more suggestions?"

Zoe snaps her mouth shut. Zeke's commando act works on her; however, David is unfazed. He still closes his mouth, smirking, waiting for Zeke to guess his next move. The thought makes me shift uncomfortably, as if he has something planned next.

"We know about the drug," Zeke says. "Does mass murder amuse you, David?"

His face falters, but his smile widens afterwards. It's too late for his act: we have all seen his weakness and his strength—information. What we do not know and he does is his power. But now, we know his information. We have eradicated his power.

My thoughts go back to Johanna, how she has taught me so much, including this. "Information is power. Without it, nothing would run the world."

"We have an insider, David. I'm surprised that you're surprised. You did try to have her killed."

"Jacqueline," Zoe growls, a lion eyeing her next meal. Her glares thrust swords into Zeke's, who keeps his eyes level. "I prefer her brother over her. She's always given Juanita and I…a sour taste."

Tris snaps her head at me and I glance at her direction. Jackie failed to mention her brother, but it's Tris's mistake to show shock. Now the information has traded hands, and Zoe and David are in possession of it. "Ah, you don't know—"

"Shut up, you idiot," David snaps, and his subordinate shuts her mouth as told, fear adrenaline in her eyes.

"Let's drive ourselves back to the topic, shall we?" Zeke orders, eyeing Tris and I, warning us. He understands the importance of information, as well. "Where are the quantities of your dream drug? This spectacular possession of yours?"

Zoe and David glare at him; and Zeke pulls out a weapon: a scalpel, sharp and the metal glinting in the skylights of the cell. "Everything I do to criminals charged with attempted murder and murder with motive is legal." Zeke leans in to Zoe's nose, her eyes wide and brown and afraid. "Everything. So when you scream in this damned room, when you cry, when you yell for help, no one will help you."

Zeke pulls out some kind of handkerchief he has somehow been hiding all this time in his pocket, and starts to clean the scalpel. "Where is your stash of drugs?" David yells at Zoe not to say anything, her face paralyzed with fear. David's, however, is stone faced, and hard. He is a true believer. Zoe, whatever trepidation holds her back, is still a criminal, whether she believes in anything at all. I have no sympathy for her.

Without warning, Zeke steps forward and plunges the scalpel into Zoe's thigh, and her screams pierce the silence of the room. Beside me, Uriah watches, unfeelingly, a poker face to the pain. He hates her. By the way his eyes are, he hates her for Christina's death. On my other side, however, Tris looks away, her hand going immediately for my arm, squeezing it. I forget, sometimes, that she is kind, that most of her strength is measured by love and not hatred. My arm goes around her waist, pulling her against me.

Zeke's voice rises above Zoe's screams, blood rushing out of her leg as he twists the weapon in her leg. "Tell me where your drugs are!" Despite David's protests, his threats, and his yelling, Zoe looks as if she's given up. Her freckles are dark, as are her eyes, tears coming out freely. "They're in…the ware—"

We fly back into the wall behind us, heat and rock and stone colliding with our bones suddenly; and I am back in the hospital of fire, flame, and burnt bodies, and I know. Someone has exploded the building, and we are stuck on the bottom floor, and the three-story police headquarters will come crashing down upon us.

**Pocky?**

**Sorry, guys, I just really love Pocky.**


	23. Chapter 22

Tris POV:

I wake when the covers behind me shift, and I quickly become cold. I turn, and Tobias sits, a guilty look drawn on his face. "Sorry. I didn't want to wake you." I shake my head, and trace his jaw line, from the sideburns to his chin, and pull press his lips to mine, remembering last night, when we promised each other many vows, with and without words.

He smiles, all teeth, and induces my grin to appear. "Come on," he says. "We got a lot of things to do today." His smile disappears with his voice, and he walks to the kitchen. "I'll get something to eat."

Soon, I am shaking shower water out of my hair and remember what we must do today. Today is Zoe and David's interrogation. The two suspects will be in the same room, and questions will rain down upon them. I step into the kitchen, eager to see what Tobias can prepare.

"All I found were eggs. Not exactly Dauntless style," he teases as he places scrambled eggs onto two plates. "They must be horrific," I say, equally teasing. As we eat, he grabs my hand. "No matter what happens, we'll be okay, okay?" I nod, knowing we will be together until the end, but worrying that the end might be too soon.

Tobias POV:

The walls of the interrogation room are gray and drab. It is torture enough to be left in the room alone, or with your main conspirator. As expected, Zoe and David squirm in their metal handcuffs and restrictions. They're uncomfortable, sitting five feet apart from each other, and believe they're about to be executed. My fault.

The cell is about seven feet tall, nine feet wide and long. Zeke walks around both of them, while Uriah, Tris, and I stand opposite to them, arms crossed over our chests. Intimidating. David seems to think it's funny, however.

"Yes, you three do look a bit tense. Why don't we lose the metal things and sit down a bit more civilized and have some drinks?"

"The only drinks you'll get," says Zeke pointedly, "Is the water my guards will use to waterboard you. Any more suggestions?"

Zoe snaps her mouth shut. Zeke's commando act works on her; however, David is unfazed. He still closes his mouth, smirking, waiting for Zeke to guess his next move. The thought makes me shift uncomfortably, as if he has something planned next.

"We know about the drug," Zeke says. "Does mass murder amuse you, David?"

His face falters, but his smile widens afterwards. It's too late for his act: we have all seen his weakness and his strength—information. What we do not know and he does is his power. But now, we know his information. We have eradicated his power.

My thoughts go back to Johanna, how she has taught me so much, including this. "Information is power. Without it, nothing would run the world."

"We have an insider, David. I'm surprised that you're surprised. You did try to have her killed."

"Jacqueline," Zoe growls, a lion eyeing her next meal. Her glares thrust swords into Zeke's, who keeps his eyes level. "I prefer her brother over her. She's always given Juanita and I…a sour taste."

Tris snaps her head at me and I glance at her direction. Jackie failed to mention her brother, but it's Tris's mistake to show shock. Now the information has traded hands, and Zoe and David are in possession of it. "Ah, you don't know—"

"Shut up, you idiot," David snaps, and his subordinate shuts her mouth as told, fear adrenaline in her eyes.

"Let's drive ourselves back to the topic, shall we?" Zeke orders, eyeing Tris and I, warning us. He understands the importance of information, as well. "Where are the quantities of your dream drug? This spectacular possession of yours?"

Zoe and David glare at him; and Zeke pulls out a weapon: a scalpel, sharp and the metal glinting in the skylights of the cell. "Everything I do to criminals charged with attempted murder and murder with motive is legal." Zeke leans in to Zoe's nose, her eyes wide and brown and afraid. "Everything. So when you scream in this damned room, when you cry, when you yell for help, no one will help you."

Zeke pulls out some kind of handkerchief he has somehow been hiding all this time in his pocket, and starts to clean the scalpel. "Where is your stash of drugs?" David yells at Zoe not to say anything, her face paralyzed with fear. David's, however, is stone faced, and hard. He is a true believer. Zoe, whatever trepidation holds her back, is still a criminal, whether she believes in anything at all. I have no sympathy for her.

Without warning, Zeke steps forward and plunges the scalpel into Zoe's thigh, and her screams pierce the silence of the room. Beside me, Uriah watches, unfeelingly, a poker face to the pain. He hates her. By the way his eyes are, he hates her for Christina's death. On my other side, however, Tris looks away, her hand going immediately for my arm, squeezing it. I forget, sometimes, that she is kind, that most of her strength is measured by love and not hatred. My arm goes around her waist, pulling her against me.

Zeke's voice rises above Zoe's screams, blood rushing out of her leg as he twists the weapon in her leg. "Tell me where your drugs are!" Despite David's protests, his threats, and his yelling, Zoe looks as if she's given up. Her freckles are dark, as are her eyes, tears coming out freely. "They're in…the ware—"

We fly back into the wall behind us, heat and rock and stone colliding with our bones suddenly; and I am back in the hospital of fire, flame, and burnt bodies, and I know. Someone has exploded the building, and we are stuck on the bottom floor, and the three-story police headquarters will come crashing down upon us.

**Pocky?**

**Sorry, guys, I just really love Pocky.**


	24. Chapter 23

Tobias POV:

Her brown hair falls in waves as she walks toward us, her eyes widening as she sees me. As if she truly cared about me. I beg to differ. "You said no one would be killed," Evelyn remarks, glaring at Nita in a stern face.

"And you believed her?" I retort, unable to stop myself. My mother looks at me in a condescending way she looks at a child, and I see that it has never changed; that she lies to me in order to protect me from what she believes is true and right but is truly wrong, that she deceives me in some twisted way that her logic says is right. She still believes I am a child.

"Shut up," Nita grits her teeth, annoyed Evelyn is here. "I said no one would be killed. Does anyone here look dead to you? I don't take orders from you, Johnson."

"We'll see what David and Zoe have to say about that. That is, when they find out you put your own endeavors to kill Mr. Pedrad ahead of their plans, Juanita."

"Don't call me that," Nita hisses with hatred, but puts her gun in her belt. "Or you'll lose the ability to speak." She walks away, slinging a slender body with a bleeding leg and freckles onto her shoulder, carrying Zoe toward the outside.

"Zeke," I say, lip quivering. His eyelids are nearly closed, flickering with exhaustion. "Got lucky there…didn't I?" he says. "Almost finished up…"

"Zeke."

"Gosh, I hate it when people call me that. Ezekiel. Only Mom can…"

Nita shuffles in and takes David's body. Where are the police? Where is Jackie? Anyone! My eyes settle on my mother, her eyes large and readable. She's questioning her choices. "Evelyn," I say. "Please."

She shakes her head, and the vulnerable look is gone. "You don't understand, Tobias. Improvement requires sacrifice." She walks away, and doesn't look back. "I'll wait in the truck. Get her, and we'll leave."

"Zeke," I say hoarsely. The stone that covers my body slows my breathing, making an ongoing pain in my ribs to flare with each breath. "Still here," he replies. "Keep it that way," I say. Nita walks in a final time, without Evelyn, and walks toward Tris's body. She grabs her by the shoulders, attempting to pull her out, and surprisingly, succeeds—until Tris's waist. Her legs are still pinioned by the rock that fell from the explosion. Her head lolls to the side, and I see that one side of her forehead is streaked with blood, continually streaming out.

Footsteps approach us before I can respond. Red hair, carrying a first aid kit in one hand, aiming a pistol in the other. Jackie. Nita turns, and her face fills with utter delight. "Jacqueline!" she exclaims. "How wonderful! So we meet again."

Jackie drops the medical supplies. "Yes," she replies dryly. "How wonderful that my brother's murderer greets me with such a warm welcome." Both her hands are on her gun now, training it on Nita. "You've made my day, Juanita. You know, David should have never given you that serum for your legs. You would have been better off in a chair for the rest of your life."

Nita scowls, hands up mockingly. "And why is that? So you could play their little pet again?"

"No," Jackie says. "So none of this would have happened." Jackie shoots, but Nita easily dodges it as she runs across the walls. Jackie presses the trigger again, and again, and again, until Nita pulls hers out.

In return, Nita's bullets press into the wall as Jackie runs toward Nita, running to and fro to avoid stray bullets. She crashes into her, tackling her body onto the ground, wrestling; the guns clatter away from them. Both grunt and punch, but nothing seems to have an effect. Until Nita smacks her skull against her opponent's and Jackie staggers back, falling again from Nita's additional kick.

Jackie jumps back up after stooping below the pick a stray rock from the ground. Swaying from the hit, she returns the favor. Her knuckles connect with Nita's jaw, her red hair furling as her foot collides with Nita's stomach; and Nita screams and falls, her hands clutching her former wound from the night in the hospital. Jackie kneels onto her body, Nita struggling from the weight. Without a word, she smacks down the sharp-edged rock onto her forehead; and Nita goes still. Her hands cease to fidget, and she is dead without a sound.

Jackie stands up over the body. Nita's head dangles to the side, her eyes open in shock. Jackie snaps from her trance, scrambling to her medical kit and running toward Zeke. His eyes are barely open, but his breathing is heavy and regular. Her hands come up to the wound and Zeke takes a sharp breath.

"No organs were punctured, it's just tissue," Jackie says as she rolls bandages out of the bag. "You're lucky. And smart that you kept pressure on the wound."

"I know that," Zeke says, mouth twitching. "I know I'm smart."

"Oh, shut up."

Once Jackie finishes, she turns her attention to me. To my surprise, she can lift the pillars off my body, and soon, my legs are free. I stand, but I groan from the pain in my chest. "Sit down, Mr. Eaton. Sit down."

Her hands are dexterous and exquisite, touching my ribs in examination. "You broke three ribs. But you'll be fine. Both of you." She nods to Zeke.

"Uriah…Tris…" Zeke says.

"Yes," Jackie says. "They'll be fine, too." Though he nods, he knows none of us are convinced.


	25. Chapter 24

Tobias POV:

I sit in the hospital bed, the pain in my ribs disappearing. Zeke was rushed to critical surgery when we arrived at the hospital inside the City, along with Uriah and Tris. Tris suffers from a concussion, so I've heard, and her legs are broken. Uriah bore the least of it—a broken arm, nothing more. I close my eyes. Evelyn, Nita, Jackie—not to mention the escape of David and Zoe. Everyone is in danger.

The door opens, and a boy rolling a woman in a wheelchair walks in. "Shauna," I say, and relief floods me. A friend is all I need at the moment. "Hector, have you been creating some kind of growth serum?" I hug Hector, who is almost as tall as I am, and he has begun to look like a miniature version of Lynn. Shauna stands; using the braces Cara gave her, and hugs me, sobbing into my shoulder. I put my arms on her shoulders.

"He's okay, Shauna," I say. "He's going to be okay." She nods with conviction. "And Tris?" she asks.

I look away. The truth is, I don't know. But I do not want to say it. Instead, I shrug, and Shauna understands. Her hair has grown longer, down to her waist, and her eyes are dark and steady. She has always been strong and Dauntless, as was Zeke. That is why they love each other, I realize. Because they know they can depend on each other.

She sighs, a shaky, deep breath. "After all this, I will smother his face with Dauntless cake, and chain him to the bed at home so he won't go to work until I approve his health."

I raise my eyebrows and laugh. "So he won't go to work or for your own personal entertainment?"

Shauna smiles and punches my shoulder lightly. "You're okay?"

I nod. "I'm okay."

Hector speaks for the first time. "You know, you really should come over some time. We haven't seen you in forever."

"Of course," I say, and I know that Zeke, Uriah, and I have been like older brothers for him. "Wouldn't want to miss out on you growing up, would I?"

Hector smiles, and Shauna reports that they're visiting Uriah, but I barely register them leaving. I am thinking, thinking of the time when people like David, Zoe, Nita, and Evelyn roam free; and when children like Hector might not grow up. They might be born like an adult; a life robbed of innocence and freedom. I cannot let that happen. We'll find them, I convince myself. We will.

I walk along the hospital, peeking into Uriah's to see he is fast asleep, exhausted from the battle of the day. Zeke and Tris are still in the care unit, where the most injured are operated on. The hospital is white and clean, a calming, soothing color—which, I suppose, is the point.

Red hair emerges from a room down the hallway, in a white nurse uniform once again. "Eaton," Jackie acknowledges, nodding. "As your nurse, I command you to rest in your room. I'll show you there. You probably got lost, didn't you?"

"Maybe," I say, and follow her down the hall.

"You okay?" Jackie asks.

I think of nodding, but to the woman who saved my life not once, but twice now, it hardly seems fair. "No," I reply curtly, and decide to say more. "Evelyn is…complicated. She's lost, and led by the wrong people because she wants power she never received in our house. But I…She's still my mother."

Jackie nods slowly, and runs her hand through her hair. "I know what you mean. Really."

To my surprise, I am irritated by her answer. "How could you possibly?" I say harshly, and remember much too late. Jackie is Jeanine's daughter.

She stops in her tracks and turns to me. "By the regret on your face, I'd say you remember who I am." We reach the room, and she opens the door for me, gesturing me inside. Her eyes are cold and angry, but they turn soft as we make eye contact.

I sit on the bed, facing Jackie. She wants to talk, perhaps because she needs someone to talk to more than I do. I have Tris, Zeke, Shauna and the others. Who does Jackie have? She sits next to me on the bed, running her fingers through her red hair again.

"I loved my mother," she begins with a large sigh. "She may have been horrible and deadly and evil; but she was the devil I knew. The devil I loved. And I understood why she did what she did, the same way you understand your mother. Jeanine was terrified of losing me to the world outside, for not only was she afraid of what she did not know, she was afraid of me. You see, my mother loved me. She truly did. But fear was what drove away from that love.

"So when I realized how horrible she was, after believing her about my Divergence, I still loved her. There were days when I hated her, but. But she was still my mother. Instead, I pitied her. My mother was another human driven by fear and not be love, driven out of spite and anger and not by reason."

I realize that Jackie and I have so much in common: we both have lost a mother twice—Jeanine from fear and drive for knowledge, and again from Tori's knife; Evelyn from her false death, and twice from her drive for power. But we understand why our mothers do this, what weaknesses they have that destroy the good in them. And we love them still.

"Thank you for sharing that with me," I say. "I know you know we feel the same of our mothers."

"Well, thank you for listening, Eaton." When I turn to look at her, I can see that she has been looking at me intently already. Her green eyes glint in the light of the room. To my surprise, she reaches up and presses her lips to my cheek, her dexterous fingers cold and delicate against my skin, a gentle peck from a fierce warrior.

My eyes must be wide and cheeks red, but she doesn't seem to notice. "Eaton, you are so…loved," she says, smiling sadly to herself as she turns away. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"Tobias," I correct. "Call me Tobias, and we'll be friends."

Jackie grins sheepishly; but then her stoic face is back. "Thank you, Tobias." She leaves, closing the door gently behind her.


	26. Chapter 25

Tris POV:

The smell is what wakes me. A sluggish, slow awakening that can only result from morphine and drugs from a hospital; along with a pain, dull and blocking, along my forehead. What happened?

I look to my right, ignoring the sharpness that poke my vision as I do so, and groan; blinking to steady the pain. Tobias sleeps, his mouth slightly open, in a chair adjacent to the hospital bed, his arms strewn on the sides.

Groggily, my memory clears: the interrogation, my pity, the explosions. I don't want to wake Tobias, but it needs to be done. I must know what's happened. "Tobias," I say softly. "Tobias."

He stirs, and gradually, his eyes come up. At the sight of me, he comes awake and alive, and smiles ever so slightly. "What's happened?"

"It was Nita. And Evelyn. They came to rescue David and Zoe."

"Uriah and Zeke? And you?" I worry. "Are you alright?"

"Better than the rest of you. Uriah only suffered a broken arm. Nita shot Zeke. He'll be alright, though. And I've only got a few broken ribs." He moves, and winces. "Maybe not only." Tobias looks at me, eyes foggy but clear with worry. "You haven't asked about yourself."

"Then tell me," I sigh. Then, all I hear is broken legs, both of them, and concussion, and might not walk again without Cara's help, and tears slip through, shaking.

His arms come around me quick, and his warmth and his strength comforts me as I sob into his chest. "It'll be alright. I love you, we're okay. Nothing else is, but we are."

I almost smile through the tears at the memory of when we slept together in Amity; and how simple it seems now.

We stay like this, my head in his chest and his arms around me, until I drift into the blackness of the night. 

"Tobias," I say, waking him up. He lies beside me in the hospital bed. It's fortunate that I am so small, that we might fit in a tiny mattress.

"Tris," he mumbles, pressing his lips to mine. "Are you alright?"

I nod into his chest. His presence comforts me like a fire in the cold night. A knock on the door interrupts the silence, and red hair floating through the door enters. Jackie sees us and nods, her eyes of steel bravery.

I sit up in the hospital bed. "Thank you, Jackie. For saving our lives. Again."

She nods, not meeting my eyes. "It's no problem. I want all of this resolved as much as you." She gestures toward the door, opening it. "There's someone here to see you."

Through the door, Caleb and Cara walk in, relief written in the wrinkles of their eyes. They whisper their thanks to God, while Cara fills me in on the braces, like Shauna's.

"We should really meet more often," Caleb says, averting his eyes. "There's so much we need to catch up on." I have forgiven my brother, and over the course of my return, I'm glad that he's forgiven himself.

"Of course, Caleb," I smile. "As soon as I can."

Caleb nods, and grins back; perhaps for the first time I've been back. "Definitely." They leave to Erudite, and I can't help but notice Caleb's ushering hand against her back and mouth against Cara's blonde hair. I smile to myself, and the way Tobias quirks his eyebrows, he's noticed it as well.

At night, when Tobias refuses to leave me, we lay underneath the covers again.

"We'll get them, Tobias," I say sternly, squeezing his arm. "We will."

"I know." His eyes are a deep blue, an ocean of emotions that terrify me and keep me alive at the same time. "Where are they, though?"

"Good question," I say. "Since they've searched all the warehouses, who knows where?" The day swam by, filled with painkillers and updates on the Rebel Trio's locations—searching warehouses and the Bureau, but turning up empty.

His hand brushes my cheek, stroking my hair between his fingers. "Will you ever tell me? What they did to you?"

I close my eyes. My brain has slotted the memories of three years' worth of torture underneath a layer of hatred and boiling revenge. But it exists, nonetheless. A jarring revelation hits me. I jerk open my eyes. "What if the drugs have been there all along? Where Zeke and Uriah found me?"

He nods. "It's possible. If they stored it there, and were moving them this whole time." His eyes conflict, measuring the risk and the manpower. Finally, he submits. "I'll tell Jackie." With a quick kiss, he's gone, and the bed is cold beside me.


	27. Chapter 26

Tobias POV:

Jackie, Amar, George, and a squad of men stand in front of the warehouse, guns poised, while Johanna and I witness the infiltration. The end of the Rebel Trio.

There is no denying the truck used to escape and bomb the interrogation room was outside of the hellhole; no denying my mother was among them. The police kept the warehouse under surveillance, and saw the three enter and stay.

"You ready, _Four_?" Amar teases through the earpiece, a smug fit as static clears and fizzes before Amar's voice pierces through. While my nickname is long forgotten, I let Amar go for it—he was the one who gave me it, after all. "Just watching, today, huh? Leave all the fun to the police."

"Whatever you say, Amar. Without us, you guys are probably going to get arrested."

"We _are_ the police."

"I meant by the people."

"You and your vision of democracy," Amar spits, as if the word smells of almond and tastes like the bitter violence of cyanide. "Does this look like democracy? Did anything we've—"

"That's quite enough, Amar," orders Johanna. "For political reasons, a leader must see that the police is performing their job correctly, especially in this immense an operation. You are about to take down a terrorist cell haunting our world. Good luck, and go."

Each of them trickles into the warehouse; and we follow in.

"Clear!" echoes across the rooms, each of them empty, save weapons, chains, food supplies, and then some. It sickens me; nauseates me to the core to think of Tris here, restrained in this place, and whatever they did to her. Without Johanna, who has become my mentor and supporter through almost two years of apprenticeship, who guides me without touch in the maze of rooms, I would have vomited all over my shoes and suit.

An office at the end of the hall stays closed, and eventually, agents approach the mystery. Jackie, her red hair flying, as usual, leads the way. She raises her foot elegantly, poised to attack, and strikes down the door; splinters spraying away all around them as they run in, and Johanna and I follow as shouts ordering, "Drop your weapon!" erupt.

I gulp, and know who it is; swallowing what pride, what sympathy I have left in me. I cannot let emotions run my thoughts—I must think like an Erudite, I must think before I act. Anger will get me nowhere, and letting her go will make things worse. My mother will live, and she will live inside a prison, where, unfortunately, she belongs.

Do I truly believe this? Do I believe my mother is a world-class criminal?

I push the thoughts out of my mind, and enter the room.

My footsteps echo, as the room silences as I enter. The room is large, wide and tall; perhaps thirty feet in width and twenty in height, and a painting that says, "Fear God Alone," hangs above the wall opposite the door, behind a wooden desk and black chair. The irony strikes me.

The walls white save the far left wall. Two bodies slump against it, painting it a smeared crimson. One is a man, whose gray eyes haunt the ten people staring at the lifeless body. The other is a woman, freckles dotting across her olive skin, agony, surprise, betrayal chiseled onto her features as she clings futilely to David. She was in love, her face says. But now the one she loves is dead.

If there was such a time for empathy, there is now. Zoe and David are dead. A gun falls onto the floor unceremoniously, the sound like a drop of water rippling throughout the puddle. My mother stands, raising her hands after letting the weapon fall, a look of pity and remorse etched into the wrinkles and curves of her exasperated features; and the woman who played games with me while waiting for Marcus to come home, who kept me sane until Marcus invaded, who left and redeemed herself again is gone. My mother may be many things: a tyrant, a traitor, a deceiver—but my mother is not a murderer.

My mother no longer exists. This woman is Evelyn Johnson, and she is a stranger to me. Evelyn Johnson is a murderer. There is no denying it.


	28. Chapter 27

Tobias POV:

The first to speak is Amar. "Well. This is a bit awkward, isn't it?" He runs his fingers through his hair, slinging it back into a ponytail.

The second is George. "You know, it's just less paperwork for us." A man in black, one of the trained policeman assigned for the raid elbows him in the ribs. "What?" quips George. "Just saying it in the place of the Pedrads."

Evelyn speaks, after what seems like an eternity of uncomfortable shifting of feet and uncertain chuckling. Her eyes seem only to look at me, to speak only to me. But I am not her son. No, this is not my mother.

"I can explain, Tobias."

"No," I say, my teeth gritting. Anger fuels my veins, a monster feeding an inferno of forgotten hatred and abandonment. I am so utterly _finished_ with her lies and explanations. "No, you can't. Arrest her. Do it."

Jackie strides toward her, as red as her crimson hair, and stops, nose to nose with her. "Not yet," she spits, and her venom is stronger than mine. Of course. She wants revenge—for her brother, for the Rebel Trio for using her, for her mother—everything. "The drugs. Where are they?"

Evelyn shakes her head, brown curls dancing, stubborn. "No matter what you do, I will always believe what I have done is for the greater good. It is what I do." She turns her attention to us all, the ten listening to her with fuming hatred. They do not want to listen to her lies, either. In the explosion, many were injured and even more were casualties in this pointless war.

I look around—it must be here; the other rooms have been cleared. The words Fear God Alone sweep my mind, and I know where it is. I push toward the desk, muttering an impatient "Move," to whoever stands in my way. I take the painting off the wall disgustingly, a reminder of the lies and deception that lived in Dauntless headquarters, and drop it on the ground.

A square of metal is carved into the wall; a spiral turn of numbers attached to it. I turn to Evelyn. "Open the safe, Evelyn."

"Since when did sons refer to their mothers by name?"

"You," I restrain my hands, clenched to my sides, just as my jaw is rough and clenched. "Are not my mother." Jackie's green eyes meet mine, and her expression is unreadable. A mixture of pity and warning, perhaps? I don't care. "I won't let whoever you are destroy our civilization, the sense of peace that we've fought so hard to create, worked so diligently to restore balance to society. I don't know who you are. My mother died from childbirth when I was six. I don't know who you are."

It's clear that the words hit her like a freight train, the way she flinches when I deny her. "Open the safe."

"If I do," she says calmly, straining to keep her voice even as I want to yell, _Why do you care? You couldn't possibly care…_, "Will you at least acknowledge me as someone you know? An acquaintance? I haven't been your mother, I admit. But you know me, Tobias. Don't you?"

She is a liar and a tyrant. I know that much of her. "We'll see."

She nods pitifully, and spins the dial: 44, 16, 4. A click, and a pop of air. The safe opens, revealing a rack of tubes filled with a blue substance. The drugs are there. My mother nods at me as the others confiscate the tubes. I turn away from her, from her unbearable, pleading eyes, and walk toward the door, looking down at the tiles of the floor, black and white. If only things were as simple as colors; blocked tiles of black evil and white purity. If only I knew a mother and a father.

"Wait." I raise my head. It is not my mother's voice. In the door stands a boy, glasses framing his face, wearing a lab coat on his skinny features. It's Matthew, from the Bureau, a century ago; and it disturbs me that things seemed simpler then. He turns to Jackie, who escorts Evelyn roughly toward the door, stopping next to me. A gasp escapes from her open mouth, her green eyes wide and fearful. "Jackie. It's me," Matthew says, and instinctively, Jackie steps back.

I know that look. It is the same glare of shock that was drawn on my face when I first saw Evelyn, Amar, Tris. It is the look when someone comes back from the dead; performs a Lazarus effect.

"Matt," Jackie wheezes.

"Hello, sister."


	29. Chapter 28

Tris POV:

Dauntless cake fills my stomach as Uriah and Zeke gorge themselves with the nostalgic treat as well. Hana, their mother, cooked us a whole cake for, as we called it, a "Yay! You're alive after being shot by a psychopath!" party.

"Well," I say as I wipe the remnants of chocolate off, "We have Jackie to thank for this."

"Oh, yeah," Uriah smirks, and I know a round of jokes are coming. "Flaming red hair from the fire in her soul. Kick-ass kung fu skills mixed with judo and nun chucks. From what I hear, killed Juanita with a rock. What's not to love?"

"Sounds like someone's got a crush," Zeke teases. His smile still resonates around the room, though he's stuck in a wheelchair, like me; at least for now.

"Sounds like someone's haven't even popped the question yet after five years," deadpans Uriah.

They glare at each other, Zeke shooting arrows at his younger brother, as I gape at him. "Shauna must be dying, Zeke! I mean, you two are perfect, you know? You're like the model status of all couples!" I babbled.

"Yeah, well it's not like Four has done anything yet!" Zeke shoots back.

"Because I'm barely 19!"

"Kids, kids…" Uriah warns. "Don't need me to call Mom, do you?"

"Who's the mom?" I wince as soon as I ask—fuel for Uriah's teasing.

"Jackie." He smiles triumphantly.

"So that means you're our dad?" Zeke's eyebrows droop as I laugh.

"Aw, shut up!"

It's easy to pretend everything is alright with the Pedrads—it's easy to pretend anything with them—but their easy smiles and their brotherly love bring everyone joy. It's proof that though hardship and strife are battles in the world's war, we can all heal and be mended.

Zeke's expression clouds after the laughter stops. "Did she ever tell you about her brother?"

"No," I say. Before the explosion—I remember—Zoe mentioned both Jackie and her brother. "Tell me."

"Her brother was—is an asset to the Bureau," Zeke explains, and my eyebrows furrow. Why had Jackie emitted this? "Always has been. While they are both Divergent, Jackie objected to the testing, questioned its morality."

"Matthew, though," Uriah continues, smirking. "Matthew was a devious little devil. I heard a rumor he's just like his mother—no blond hair, though, but he gives off a…" His hands gesture toward his face in a humorous way. "Feminine glow."

"Why didn't she tell us?"

"Because she thinks he's dead," Zeke answers. "They claim they killed him to punish Jackie, to convince her to join them; but it only fueled her more. As you can see."

_Matthew_, and the revelation makes me gasp. Matthew, who helped us in the Bureau. Matthew, who helped us release the memory serum. Matthew, who created a diversion so I could save the cities.

Funny how one man can be another.

Tobias POV:

"What?" I ask her. Her red hair shimmers in the light in the building; her face reflected across the mirrors in the hallway. "Matthew? Is that you?"

"Don't trust him, Tobias," Jackie warns. "He's a dead man."

"I'm right here, Jacqueline. I'm alive," Matthew says. "Trust me. I'm your brother."

_Caleb_, I think. Caleb was Tris's brother.

"Jackie," I say. "You're right. We should get going."

For a moment, I believe she is about to nod. But then, her head wags horizontally; and I fear the irrationality in her decision. She lets go of Evelyn, shoving her body helplessly my way, and rushes toward her brother. They put their arms around each other as the warrior whose mask only falls once around me sobs into her older brother chest.

"Matt! I thought…they…"

Matthew's green eyes stare a hole into the ground as tears slip out. "I know." His eyes lift toward Evelyn, and I watch as they make eye contact. No. I won't let another brother betray his sister. "I'm sorry, Jacqueline."

"Jackie! Get away from him!" I yell, just as the knife plunges in; unseen, coming from the trick of his sleeve, seen as it makes its presence known by the spidery lines of blood that spread as her gasp of surprise escapes her mouth.

Anger fuels my veins; quickly poisoning my body, a quick death and revival. I become another person. Old habits, I see, die hard. I run toward them as the others do; as they pull him off, as the blood becomes a puddle, as they lay her down on the ground. Johanna's face is full of grief, and her expression brings nothing but pity for me. I can barely feel as I stalk up to Matthew's river-stained remorse and swing my fist into him. I can barely feel as I grab my mother's arm, too roughly, I can see from her expression; but the fear does nothing to still the anger. Perhaps it brings an entirely new fear to the table. Should I be called Four any longer?

I don't know how I end up outside, or how I end up in the car beside Jackie, slowly dying as her back bleeds more, as her veins are emptied, as she becomes more of a memory than a person; because that stings more than the death itself. God, don't let her become a memory. Oh, I can't feel as I sit, hand on hers, my _friend_, who comforted me and showed me the way of love for our mothers, and understanding no other could provide, in the back of the truck; my silent, regretful mother beside me. All I can hope for is for the remorse the make a meal of her insides.


	30. Chapter 29

Tris POV:

When they return, he is different. His bitterness is evident; and his jaw clenches every few seconds as they operate on the red-head that was—_is _his friend. Silence haunts the room as our hands entwine to comfort one another. We do not say a word.

Eventually, they arrive to tell him that they could not save her. That the flame that once saved us all no longer breathes fire into the world of chaos. That the beauty that once healed Zeke and others can no longer perform a surgery, or bandage a bullet wound. That perhaps it was the reluctance to live after the betrayal that killed her. And he is angrier still.

There is no doubt that he blames his mother, a murderer now, and his hands are tight in curled fists as he stares at the ground in his suit—Johanna had sent him home, so he came to the hospital. The loneliness, I suspect, would have killed him. He is distant, like he is in another world of his own, of rage and betrayal, of the thirst of vengeance. I see in his eyes, warm and brown; and yet today they are cold. It frightens me—the fear that Four is coming back, that Four is overcoming the good in Tobias.

He sits in the chair next to the bed as I look at him, daring him to stare back at me. His focus remains on the tiles of the floor. "Tobias," I say softly.

His head turns and he faces my direction; but I can tell by the hollowness of his eyes that he is not _here_. "Tobias," I repeat, and lean forward; my hands on his. He blinks, and he finds me, breathing deeply.

"I…she was my friend…"

"I know. I know."

"Tris, I…"

"I know," I comfort him, because I know how much Jackie meant to him. With her, he was not alone with a horrible mother. With her, he was able to keep Zeke, Uriah, and me. Himself. Jackie was a saint; a savior at heart. His eyes are vulnerable, and he wears his heart, for once, all over himself; the emotions lathered onto his skin like a snake shedding.

It breaks me as his voice cracks, as his eyes close, as he comes toward me, shaking like an animal; it breaks me as I hold him as his tears fall and dampen my hair. I've never seen Tobias like this, and my cheeks moisten as his do; and as I shift my mouth into his neck, it shakes me how little we've seen of our sides and yet how far we've gone together.

"It will be alright," I sternly tell him, because it will. "We'll find each other. We always do." It's true. I am not sure who found who first; but it is clear that we have straightened each others' paths in ways unimaginable—all it took was a jump, and the faith that something (someone) was there to catch us. Then a net, a hand, a name. Both of us were renewed on that day, and from there on, we found each other and saved each other from others and from ourselves. We have lost and gained fears. I have learned that selflessness and bravery are very similar, and that we can be mended as long as we can be found. We find each other.


	31. Epilogue

**Decisions**

And so, we found ourselves. The boy with mousy brown hair who was an evil conspirator and traitor and yet innocent villain in one was caged in a cell, an entrapment that made him face his grave errors and confront what remorse destroyed him inside. His decision was to repent, and eventually his crimes were lessened because of the confessions and the Stockholm syndrome he developed for Zoe.

Afraid of abandonment, a lost woman in search of power because she had none in her marital years decided to die her own way—they found her, noose and neck snapped from the roof of her own cell; and she died from the bed sheets and linens they had provided.

I was there to catch him when he fell from the news, and that night, we decided to seal our own fate: of promises and vows whispered in the covers of darkness and white sheets; a formal gowned ceremony to come months later, with much planning.

However, it was not before two black events to be conducted. They had decided to give their lives for us; and so we would honor them. That fall, we lowered two metal boxes into the ground. We were convinced we would see them again, when the time was right.

Afterwards, my dress was as white as the snow around us, and his was gray and white; blending into the clouds in the horizon. It was Caleb who walked me down the aisle with my leg braces, and Hector who would bear the metal rings. I took my place next to Shauna and Cara, who, in a few months, would become my sister-in-law. Zeke and Uriah stood behind Tobias. Formally, we exchanged the vows we made months ago and remembered how four years ago, Tris Prior had died; how one year ago, she was found; and now, Tris Prior no longer exists, but Tris Eaton.

I had never been happier; and the joy has never receded.

**THE END**

**Thank you guys so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed, and as always: eat Pocky.**

**Just kidding. **

**Be brave.**


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